If We Can't Live Together
by Unidentified Pineapples
Summary: There were other survivors of the crash, you know. Other people with emotions and lives and pasts. Care to find out who they are? Come on, you know you're intrigued.
1. What Happened?

**A.N.**

**Hey! So I'm back with a new story called "If We Can't Live Together…" Basically, I decided to take a bunch of the OCs that I've submitted for other authors' stories and throw them all into one fic. This is just an introduction chapter so that we can get a taste of who these characters are. I'm not sure if this will be canon (probably not), but we'll just have to see where it goes.**

**Anyway, I'm tired from studying for midterms and I feel like I'm rambling, so I'm going to stop now and leave you with the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Matthew Bradley stepped out of the jungle, his legs wobbly and his head pounding. He placed his palm to the side of his forehead, feeling a steady throb beneath his hand. Upon feeling a warm, gooey substance trickle down his temple and cheek, Matthew quickly withdrew his hand to find it smudged in his own blood.

"Damn, he mumbled, at the same time emerging out onto the brightly lit beach.

Matthew froze, taking in the devastating scene before him: a plane – the very same plane Matthew had just been aboard – lay ruined and smoldering across the beach, the engine still whirring, the propellers still raging incessantly. People fled the wreckage, many injured, others dead, some still trapped beneath debris and luggage. It was utter chaos.

Immediately forgetting his own injury, Matthew ran to help those still in jeopardy. Dashing across the sand, he had to keep one eye on the ground in front of him, careful to skirt the hundreds of pieces of debris in his way. With all the pandemonium, Matthew didn't have enough time to react when a man in a suit ran out directly in front of him. Failing to skid to a steady halt, the two collided.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said. "I didn't see –."

"There's a guy trapped under some wreckage over there," the guy cut him off. "We could use your help pulling him out."

"Yeah, of course," Matthew shouted over the roar of the engine. "I'm Matthew."

"Jack."

"Yeah, of course, Jack."

With the introduction out of the way, the pair wasted no time hurrying across the beach to the man trapped under the wreckage. He was conscious, but just barely. Just as the two were determining the best way to pull this guy out safely, a bald man ran over to them.

"Hey, do you need some help?" He looked a little wobbly on his feet, like his leg muscles were sore from ill use. Or maybe it was just the plane crash.

"That would be great," Jack shouted over the din of the engine, kneeling down beside the barely conscious man. "On the count of three."

Matthew and the bald man both took their positions behind the guy's head, each gripping one of his arms.

"One. Two. Three!"

They pulled, and with an unnatural ease the man slid out from beneath the wreckage, his pant legs soaked in his own blood. Jack quickly set to work applying pressure to the wounds, hurrying to stop any more bleeding.

"Is there anything I can do?" Matthew asked Jack who seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

Just as Jack opened his mouth, the bald man turned to them.

"Hey, there's someone in the water!"

Without even a backward glance, Matthew made a dash for the water's edge, only pausing to pull off his socks and shoes.

In an instant he was diving into the water, brown hair plastered to his forehead. The salt from the ocean stung at the gash on his head, but he ignored the throbbing and pulled himself ever closer to the bobbing figure.

In a matter of minutes, during which Matthew knew every second could mean this person's life, he had pulled the figure – a girl – to shore. She wasn't breathing. Matthew quickly clasped his hands together and began pulsating on her chest. After every ten beats, he blew air into her lungs, and then went back to pulsating. He worked like this for about a minute, until…

She coughed and sputtered up sea-water, gasping for breath.

"It's okay, it's okay. You're alright," Matthew chided. "Breathe." He placed a hand on her shoulder, watching as she scrambled to comprehend her surroundings. A look of terror glistened in her eye.

"What happened?"

"…We were in a plane crash."

* * *

A few hours later, the forty-eight survivors of Oceanic 815 sat around bon fires in relative silence, most of them complete strangers. A few conversations could be heard among various people, but beside that, all was quiet between the passengers.

That is, until the man sitting beside Harmony Felix decided to break that silence.

"How do you do that?" he asked her, his voice thick with British accent.

Without turning toward him, Harmony replied, "How do I do what?"

"You know," he stated, "stare at the fire like that without hurting your eyes?"

"What?"

"Well, it's just, you've been starring at that blazing bon fire for, like, ten minutes now," he explained. "Don't your eyes hurt?"

"Nope," she said, continuing to stare.

"Really?" he asked, confusion apparent in that one word. "Why not?"

Harmony heaved a heavy sigh and turned to face him, bringing her gaze slightly upward to match his. "Because I'm blind," she said wearily. And just like every time these words rolled off her tongue, she was met with a stunned silence. She offered a smile and said, "I'm Harmony," and held out her hand.

"Uh, Charlie," he replied, hesitantly taking her hand and shaking it. She could feel something rough wrapped around his knuckles, like rings but thicker and much wider.

"Don't be embarrassed, Charlie. You're not the first person to be caught off guard like that, and you most certainly won't be the last. I've lived with it all my life; I'm used to it by now." She released his curious hand somewhat reluctantly. "How could you have known anyway, right?"

"…Right."

She felt Charlie turn away in awkward embarrassment, and she likewise turned back to the fire, unsure whether to be frustrated or amused.

Life as usual.

* * *

Sara Poole sat facing one of the many bon fires with her back to the jungle. So much had happened in the last few hours. So many deaths, so many faces she barely knew. How long would they be here? How long until someone found them? Hours? Days? Weeks? And what was she supposed to do in the mean-time? Should she lend a helping hand? Should she just sit back and observe? What if they found out who she really was? What then?

So many thoughts plagued her mind, setting her ill at ease. She knew this wouldn't be easy.

_But_, she thought, a small smile forming on her face, _I'm up for the challenge._

With her nerves still on edge but beginning to subside, she stared at the fire, eyes slowly drifting closed.

"Are you okay?" a voice sounded from behind her. She turned to see an older gentleman looking at her with concern.

"I'm fine," she replied curtly, turning back to the fire.

"You sure?" he inquired further, helping himself to a seat beside her on the jagged wreckage. "You just, I don't know, you look stressed."

"Don't we all," she laughed bitterly. "We just fell out of a plane."

"Oh, yeah," the man said. "_That_."

"Yeah. _That._"

"It'll be okay," he said, smiling. Looking at him, Sara realized that his presence comforted her and somehow set her at ease. "Rescue will be here soon."

"I hope so," she sighed. "I hope so."

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments listening to the crackle and pops of the fire. Then he turned to her and said, "By the way, I'm Ethan."

"Nice to meet you, Ethan," Sara said, shaking his hand. "I'm Sara-."

Her voice was suddenly drowned out by a set of crashes coming from the jungle. She whipped her head around just in time to witness several trees being ripped straight to the ground. This was then followed by a series of metallic grinding and ticking sounds, and concluded with a resonating _Ooooooooohhhhhwww. _Not thirty seconds after it had started, it was over.

"Oh, good," Sara remarked sarcastically, looking horrified at Ethan.

* * *

Panic broke out around the camp, murmured speculations, frightened whispers and demanding outbursts could be heard across the beach.

Ezekiel Booth stood there, stunned, too shocked to move, too afraid to remove his eyes from the present stillness of the jungle. What if it came back? What if their voices drew its attention? What if it hurt someone? What if it killed? What if rescue didn't arrive soon enough? What then? Was he the only one to consider this?

"What… What do you think it was?"

Zeke turned to see a very beautiful, very _pregnant_ lady standing next to him, her eyes full of question and fear. She held one hand on her bulging stomach and stole quick, frightened glances toward the jungle.

"I don't know."

The lady sounded terrified. "Do you… do you think it'll come back?"

It was hard for him to say. Did he think it would come back? If everyone continued on chattering like they were, probably. But looking at this pregnant lady and weighing his options, he knew that that answer would only cause her to panic which would do no good for the baby. So he gave another equally truthful answer.

"I hope not."

Zeke offered a kind smile to the lady who attempted to smile back but somehow couldn't calm herself down enough to form one.

At the sound of a lone piece of luggage crashing to the floor of the fuselage some distance away, the lady jumped and quickly grabbed Zeke's hand, sliding closer to him for protection. After realizing her mistake, she blushed slightly.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a bit nervous."

"Yeah, I think we all are," he said as she released his hand.

"I'm Claire."

"Zeke."

"Nice to meet you," she smiled, while still stealing quick glances toward the jungle.

"You know what, why don't I stay with you for awhile? Until rescue shows up, I mean."

"I'd like that."

And together they sat facing the fire, lost in conversation, waiting for morning.

* * *

It had been just fourteen hours since the forty-eight survivors of Oceanic 815 crashed onto the island. The night had been long, especially once they realized that that… _thing_ was on the island with them. Few, if any, of the survivors had gotten much sleep, terrified that whatever the _thing_ was would come back. It suddenly became a waiting game. How long before it knew they were there?

"Whatever it was, it wasn't natural."

A small group of survivors sat in a circle, looking to each other for some sort of comfort. None could give any.

"Damn right that shit wasn't natural!" a Dominican man spoke up. "Seriously, yo! I ain't never seen anything like that in my _life_, man. That was like some Jurassic Park shit last night."

"Hey, do you _mind_," a man known as Michael said to the Dominican. He made a sideways motion toward a young boy sitting in the sand beside him. "My son doesn't need to hear your mouth."

"Oh, sorry," the Dominican replied back somewhat sheepishly. He glanced around at the others in the group waiting for someone else to speak, but when no one did, he spoke again. "But seriously yo, that was ridiculous! I mean, what the hell- _heck_ was up with that last night?! I mean, am I the only one thinking the obvious here?" He paused again, making eye-contact with everyone in the circle. "We're stranded on an island with dinosaurs!"

"Excuse me, what is your name?" Matthew Bradley cut in respectfully.

"Juan Alvarez, but everyone can call me Alvie. Juan just sounds too uptight."

"Alright, Alvie," Matthew smiled, humoring him. "Besides what we heard last night, what makes you think there could be dinosaurs here?"

The girl sitting beside Matthew – the same girl he had pulled from the water during the crash – looked at him curiously. Matthew just shook his head slightly in a don't-worry-I-know-where-I'm-going-with-this look.

"Um, have you _seen_ Jurassic Park? Those pre-historic reptiles had been living on that island for, like, trillions of years, yo!" Alvie said with full conviction. "How do we know that isn't happening here?"

"Because in Jurassic Park, those dinosaurs had been genetically created by scientists and had probably only been living on that island for a few years at most," Matthew countered calmly. "And with technology today, we would be much more aware if an island like that existed than we would have been in 1992 when Jurassic Park took place."

"Wow. That rolled right off your tongue," Michael observed, eyeing him questioningly.

"Oh, I'm a History teacher," Matthew explained. "See, when you teach inquisitive 7th graders every day, you learn to check up on your facts and prepare for any unlikely questions they might throw at you. Turns out, "Are there really islands with dinosaurs on them like in _Jurassic Park_?" is a popular question among 13-year-olds."

"Huh," was all Michael could think to say back.

At a lull in the conversation, a man named Hurley walked up behind Alvie – who jumped slightly – and addressed the group.

"So, I was just looking inside the fuselage. It's pretty grim in there. Do you guys think we should do something about the…" Hurley cast a glance toward Michael's son, "B-O-D-Y-S?"

Alvie furrowed his brow, Matthew and the girl beside him exchanged confused glances and Michael took a moment to ponder what Hurley had just said. "What're you spelling, man? Bodies?"

"B-O-D-I-E-S," Michael's son, Walt, corrected.

The girl beside Matthew stifled her tittering.

An Arab man named Sayid looked at her reproachfully before turning toward Hurley. "That sounds like a good idea."

A general murmur of consensus went around the group, some nodding their approval, others mumbling, "Yeah."

"No," a girl named Shannon cut in. "Rescue will deal with it when they get here."

"But what if they _don't_ come?" Alvie started up again. "What if they _neve_r get here? What if we're all trapped on this island for the rest of our _lives_?"

Michael released a sigh of annoyance and cast a glance back toward Walt to find him still occupied with the sand. Matthew was about to rebuke Alvie's theory by saying that all planes have a black-box which would send a signal to the rescue boats telling them right where the plane crashed; however, Jack, the doctor, walked up at that moment and all conversation stopped.

"I'm gonna go out and look for the cockpit," he said, addressing the group as Hurley had done. "See if we can find a transceiver to send a distress signal to the rescue team." All but Shannon and Alvie nodded their approval.

"I'll come with you," Charlie said suddenly, standing up. "I wanna help."

"No," Jack countered. "No, I don't need any more help."

"No, it's cool," Charlie persisted. "I don't really feel like standing still. Come on, it'll be fun." He turned to face the group. "Anyone else want to come?"

Jack was about to object, but before he could open his mouth the girl beside Matthew Bradley stood up and said, "I'd like to come if you don't mind. It'll be good to stretch my legs."

"Great!" Charlie said. "Anyone else want to join us?"

"No. No, we're good," Jack asserted. "Any more people is just going to slow us down."

"I'm telling you, man," Alvie began again in a frenzy, "you can't go out there with that _thing_ on the loose. You guys aren't going to come back alive! Seriously, yo! It's going to kill you!"

"Well, we'll take our chances," Jack said, dismissively. He looked to Charlie and the blonde girl. "We leave in ten minutes."

"Excellent," Charlie said, following Jack who looked as though he wanted to be as far away from Charlie as possible.

The blonde girl made to follow the two men, but Matthew gently pulled her aside out of earshot of the group. "Hey, are you sure about this? You heard that thing last night, are you sure want to go out there?"

She looked up at him and Matthew saw the beginnings of tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She fought to keep her composure. "I have to," she stated determinedly. "Matthew, what if someone I know was sitting at the front of the plane? You know, what if they can tell me who I am? I don't remember _anything_ that happened before the crash, not a damn thing. And it scares the living hell out of me." Despite her efforts, a single tear rolled down her cheek. "I need to go. I need to know if there's anything in that cockpit that can give me a clue of who I was before this. Hell, I don't even know my own _name._ Isn't that reason enough to want answers?"

"Of course it is," Matthew said. They had gone over all of this the day before, after he had pulled her out of the water. Who she was, what she remembered, why she was on the plane, but every question had come up empty. He had hoped her memory would have returned by now, or that at least rescue would have arrived. But with neither prospect any closer to being fulfilled, it was her right to look for answers. If she wanted to go with Jack and Charlie, he couldn't stop her. "But please be safe. Stay close to Jack." He found himself wanting to wipe away the tear that had fallen down her cheek but he held himself back. "And if you see that thing… run."

* * *

**A.N.**

**So what did you think? Good aspects, bad aspects? Which characters do you like and dislike? Any feedback is appreciated.**

**Also, I'm going to leave it up to the readers as to whose flashback you want to see in the next chapter. All characters are up for grabs… well, except for the girl with no memory (who from now on will be referred to as Doe). Can't really write her flashback if she can't remember who she is now can I?**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave feedback! Feedback gives me the energy to write more! **

**So, yeah, that's it. Leave a review with the person whose flashback you're interested in seeing! Thanks!**


	2. Don't Get Involved

**Yes, this is long overdue, but it's finally here, the next chapter!! As requested, this chapter centers around Sara Poole. I was actually hoping to save her story for later on in the fic, but as I was writing this, I think it was a good choice. There's one particular scene in here that I'm very happy with and that I hope came across in the right context. Anyway, enough of my rambling! I now present: chapter two. Enjoy!**

**If you remember, we last left off with the girl with no memory (from here on out referred to as Doe) telling Matthew Bradley that she was going in search of the cockpit with Jack, Charlie and Kate in hopes that she might find some clues as to who she was prior to the crash.**

* * *

"Where do you think they're going?"

Sara Poole sat with her bare feet soaking in the lapping waves of the ocean, toes squinching the sand, jeans rolled up to her knees. Beside her was Harmony Felix, a short-haired, blonde girl who had nothing better to do than to stare out intently at the ocean, looking for the first signs of rescue no doubt. The two had barely exchanged three words before now, but as Sara watched Jack hitch a backpack up on his shoulder and lead three others into the jungle, she felt an alarming curiosity prick inside her and could remain silent no longer.

"Who?" Harmony asked while continuing to stare at the horizon line.

Sara casually tilted her head in the direction of the group. "Them. The ones trekking into the jungle."

Harmony sighed a long, drawn-out breath filled with frustration. "I can't see them."

Sara, having been staring at the group for the last few minutes turned back to face Harmony. Her brow furrowed uncomprehendingly as she saw that the blonde had made absolutely no effort to even turn around.

"…Well, despite the fact that the ocean is a glorious place indeed," Sara began hesitantly, unsure whether or not to take this girl seriously, "the group in question is actually more inland than you seem to think." Sara cocked a thumb over her shoulder toward the tree-line. "As in _very_ more inland."

Harmony sighed again, tucked her knees up to her chest and leaned her forehead against her knees, grumbling incoherently. Her feet twitched about the sand in an agitated manner while Sara looked on, thoroughly confused.

"No," Harmony mumbled from within the confines of her legs. "I mean, I can't see _anything_. Nothing. Not the ocean, not the beach or the jungle. Not the plane, not the passengers. Not you, not them. _Nothing._" She lifted her head from her knees and turned to where Sara sat. "I'm blind. Blind since birth. Been like this my whole life, okay? And before you start feeling sorry for me, _don't_, okay? I've heard enough of it over the past nineteen years to know that "I'm sorry" isn't going to fix it. _Nothing_ is going to fix it. So, if you've got something to say about it, just keep your comments to yourself."

Without any regard for the stupor she had just instilled upon Sara, the teen stood up, brushed the dry sand from her bare feet and walked off, pausing only to say over her shoulder, "And Charlie said they're going to check out the cockpit."

By the time Sara had collected her wits back, the blonde was gone. "…Thanks."

Maybe Sara just should have stayed quiet.

* * *

_The alarm by Sara's bed rang shrill and loud, cutting through the silence of the house. She rolled to the side of the bed, arm outstretched and silenced the bloody machine, remembering with a sink in her stomach that the space beside her was empty. There was no warm body there to greet her with a "good-morning" or an arm that would hold her to his chest for a few minutes while she woke up. The sheets were cold, his pillow fluffed just the way it had been the night before when she climbed into bed. She hated when he left, when got called away for "work" purposes. Hated when he wasn't near her._

_With a deep breath of implied "just a few more days", Sara pulled herself out of bed and began to feel the slight depression that accompanied his absence every time he left. _

_The house was silent, too silent for Sara's liking. Every _temp, temp, temp_ of her bare-feet on the wood floor echoed like a gunshot off the walls. The rooms seemed more empty, the air seemed thinner. Which was ridiculous. How could one person's absence make the air thinner? It was absurd._

_And yet she never felt quite right when he was away. Never. It was as if a part of herself, her being, her essence was missing._

_But she plowed on as she did every time he was away. Woke up, made some breakfast, got dressed and made the bed. By the time nine o'clock hit, Sara was staring at herself in the mirror, wondering how many more days like this she would have to endure. How many more nights of tossing and turning? How many more one-person breakfasts? She stared at her reflection and in it saw him. Her flowing, auburn hair became his short, dark brown mess. Her light-skinned, smooth face became his rugged, slightly stubbled chin. Her dark blue eyes transformed into his mahogany ones. It was as if he was looking back at her through the mirror, saying, "I'll be back soon. I promise."_

_Blinking away the image, Sara pulled her hair out of her face and tied it back into a low pony-tail, feeling it tickle the back of her neck. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt like his warm breath. Almost._

_Her reverie was interrupted when three knocks were heard on the front door._

_"Sara? I know you're home."_

_She sighed and opened her eyes. For a brief second, Sara entertained the idea of what would happen if she didn't answer the door. She wondered if he'd go away or if he'd be persistent and knock again, possibly even forcing open her front window (which he knew had a faulty lock) and climb inside. It was a tempting thought ignoring his knocks, almost too tempting to resist._

_But if Sara had learned anything from her life, it was that she could not for the life of her stay quiet._

_So after another moment's pause, Sara walked to the front door, grasped the knob and pulled it open…_

* * *

The four of them – Jack, Kate, Charlie and Doe (for that was the name she had chosen for herself) – had been trekking through the jungle for about a half-hour. Fortunately for her, no one had tried to ask her anything too personal as of yet, although she got the definitive impression that Charlie might've been hitting on her earlier. Not that he was bad-looking or anything of that nature, she just didn't think it was wise to get involved with someone when she didn't even know who she herself was. She felt bad enough as it was that part of her burden fell on Matthew Bradley. She didn't want him worrying over her. It was a frustrating business which she tried not to think about. Hopefully she'd find some useful information at the cockpit. Hopefully.

"Can I ask you something?" Kate said nonchalantly, turning in Doe's direction.

Doe froze internally and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

"Me?" Charlie asked from behind her. "I'd be thrilled. I've been waiting."

A tremor of relief shot up her stomach as she saw that Kate's question had actually been intended for the Brit. Whew!

"Have we ever met anywhere?"

"No. That would be unlikely," Charlie answered. "But I look familiar though, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can't quite place it?"

"No, I can't."

As Doe listened to their conversation, she couldn't help but feel as though this was the physical manifestation of what she had been debating in her head since the crash. She couldn't quite place anything. What was her name? It always felt right on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to come out into the open, but somehow continued to elude her. And what about the countless faces of people on the beach? Had she known any of them prior to the crash? She found herself staring at people far too often for too long periods of time, just wondering if they were somehow a part of her life. How long was she supposed to feel this way?

"Yeah," Charlie said. "I think I know."

"You do?" Kate asked, turning to look at him while she continued walking.

"Yeah," Charlie smiled. "_You all everybody. You all everybody!_"

Kate continued to look confused as the Brit sang. Doe shrugged when Kate looked to her for some sort of explanation.

"You've never heard that song?" Charlie questioned.

"I've heard it," Kate replied. "I just don't know what the hell that has –,"

"That's us," the Brit said. "Driveshaft."

"Driveshaft?" Doe asked. Was that name somehow familiar to her, or was it just wishful thinking?

"You've never heard of Driveshaft?"

"The _band_?" Kate asked, doubtful.

"Yeah, the band!" Charlie argued excitedly. Doe could see how much he was trying to convince them that he was actually in this band called "Driveshaft", whatever that was.

"You were in Driveshaft?" Kate asked, incredulous. Well, at least one of them knew what it was.

"I _am_ in Driveshaft," Charlie insisted. "I play bass."

"You're serious?" Kate asked. "My friend Beth would freak. She loves you guys."

"Give me Beth's number. I'll call her up. I'd love to."

Kate was grinning from ear to ear, and Charlie seemed delighted that someone had finally recognized him (albeit after a little coaching). Doe just kind of stood there, unsure how to react. Did she know Driveshaft? Had she ever listened to their music? She hoped Charlie was too intent on Kate's glee to see that Doe was completely clueless.

Thankfully, at that moment Jack walked up. "Hey, listen, we gotta keep moving. You can chat later."

"Hey, have you ever heard of Driveshaft?" Kate asked Jack, who looked a tad annoyed that she had caused them to slow down.

"Kate." A moment of understanding passed between the doctor and brunette, and in a matter of moments, all light-heartedness had dissipated and they once again set forth on their hike, Jack leading the way.

Doe quickened her pace to catch up to him.

"Hey, Jack?" Doe began. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he said, keeping his brisk pace.

"Okay, well…" How was she supposed to put this lightly? "You're a doctor, right?"

"I'm a spinal surgeon," he corrected, not unkindly. "But, yeah, "doctor" works too." He smiled good-naturedly, which to Doe meant he was in a good enough mood that he wouldn't be bothered by her questioning.

"Right, okay," she stammered. "So, you'd be pretty knowledgeable about other doctor-related things? I mean, besides spinal surgery?"

The hesitation in her voice was cause enough for Jack to pause. He looked at her skeptically. "Is there something you want to ask me, Doe?"

"Well, no," she lied. "Not specifically. I mean…"

She felt his intense stare burning a hole into the side of her head and knew that she couldn't take it back now, no matter how much she wished she could.

With a quick glance behind her to see that Charlie and Kate were just out of earshot, she turned to the doctor and quietly asked, "Okay. So, on average, how long would you say amnesia lasts before a person begins to remember things again?"

"You having trouble remembering something?" he questioned, equally as quiet as she.

"Only my entire life," she mumbled, half to herself, half to Jack.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her full on. "Wait a minute, what?"

Doe cast a panicked glance toward Charlie and Kate who had inconveniently decided to pick up the pace and were drawing ever closer. Jack gave her a look of expectancy, trying to draw an answer out of her. She ignored it and kept walking. "Not now, Jack. Please."

Sensing the two stragglers behind him, Jack began walking again so as not to provoke any questions from them. As he made pace with Doe, he tried again. "Wait, so you're saying that –."

"Later, Jack." Another glance confirmed that the rocker and brunette were now within earshot. "Later."

Without waiting for a reply of confirmation, Doe pressed on, perhaps even more distraught than before.

* * *

"Hey, Ethan!" Sara called, jogging toward the man who had kept her company the night before. "Ethan!" He was crouched by the water's edge, a little ways down the beach from where Sara and Harmony had been sitting just a few moments before. Next to him were two piles of shoes, one clean and one dirty. As Sara ran over, he took another dirty shoe, rinsed it in the water, made sure all the sand and muck was off, then placed it in the clean pile. As he repeated the process for the rest of the dirty shoes, he looked up.

"Hey, Sara. How'd you sleep last night?"

Coming to a halt as she reached him, Sara paused and thought she should probably get the formalities out of the way before plunging into a game of 20 Questions. "Lousy. Tossed and turned most of the night. Barely got two hours in." She intended to end the conversation there and get to the main reason why she had come to speak with Ethan, but some emotion kept her going. Some driving force that caused thoughts and feelings to tumble out of her mouth. "My stomach's been in knots, Ethan. I mean, how are we supposed to get through this? Is rescue _ever_ going to get here? It's been fifteen hours…. And I'm worried."

As he listened, Ethan stopped what he was doing. He felt for her, he really did. He knew what she was going through, the worry, the panic. A million thoughts were probably buzzing through her head at that moment. He stood up and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Look, you're under a lot of stress. We all are. But you can't place the weight of the world on your shoulders alone. Just let things happen. It'll get better."

"How can you be so calm?" she asked, looking up into his eyes.

He smiled. "Who said I was calm?"

After a moment's hesitation, Sara smiled too. Even if it was for only a second.

* * *

_After a moment's pause, Sara walked to the front door, grasped the knob and pulled it open._

_The glare of the bright morning sun was the first thing to grace – or rather sting – her eyes, causing her to squint back the tears that accompanied the drastic change of light. After a few seconds, in which her eyes adjusted to the outdoor lighting, she was able to take in the figure standing at her door. Despite his sallow-looking face, he smiled with the perfect air of cheerfulness to accompany the clear morning sky. His white tee-shirt and blue-checkered, unbuttoned button-down billowed slightly in the breeze, further accentuating his pleasantry._

_"Good-morning," he greeted brightly, his smile growing larger at the sight of her._

_Sara hesitated for a second, glancing over her neighbor. She wasn't fooled by his demeanor, his pleasantness. He was here for a reason, a specific task she knew he wanted to accomplish. It happened every so often when she found herself alone in the house, waiting for the return of her husband. It was almost routine by now._

_"Good-morning." She drew out the words, long and skeptical._

_"Had breakfast yet?" he asked genuinely._

_She smiled as she recognized an opportunity and seized it. Placing a hand on the door, Sara said, "Yes I have actually, but thanks for offering," and closed the door._

_Unfortunately for Sara, her neighbor saw this coming and pushed the door back open before she could latch it. His expression suddenly changed to one of exhaustion._

_"Sara, come on." With the door out of the way, he could clearly see her staring at him with a hint of defiance in her eyes. He wasn't daunted. "You do this every time he leaves. You seclude yourself inside, you do nothing, talk to no one. You think we don't notice? Because we do."_

_"The way I handle my husband's absence is none of your concern, or anyone else's in the neighborhood for that matter. I'll deal with it my own way, thank you." Sara tried again to force the door shut, but he was too strong. She may have been a force to be reckoned with verbally, but he won out in physical strength almost every time. Sara was a small girl after all._

_"Look, just humor me for once. Get out of the house, get your mind off things. You're only going to sit inside and stew over the fact that he's not there anyway. That's not healthy, Sara. Not for anyone." After a pause he added, "Just trust me on this, okay?"_

_If it were anyone else at her door, Sara would have said no. What she did on her own time was her business. She didn't need someone telling her what to do; she never allowed anyone that kind of authority over her. But this wasn't just anyone else. This was a man who knew better than anybody what she was going through. Sara still remembered the day the news reached her that his wife had died in childbirth. He became almost a different person after that - didn't leave his house for weeks, never spoke to anyone, never took care of himself. Sara often wondered how he had coped with such a loss. If anything were ever to happen to her husband… She didn't want to go there. She could go mad just thinking about it._

_So had this been any other person at her door this morning, things would be different. But since he knew how it felt to be taken away from the person you loved, Sara had to give in. In this case, he knew what was best._

_"What did you have in mind?"_

_Her neighbor smiled, all bouts of pleasantry restored to his features. "I've got some errands I have to do around town. Up for giving me a hand?"_

_Sara smiled too and just shook her head as if to say, _What the hell_._

_"Sure."_

_In one smooth motion Sara pulled her door shut behind her and was walking in step beside him, headed toward a neighboring house – their first destination of the day. Without turning to look at her companion, she spoke. "Hey, Ethan?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"Thanks."_

_"Anytime, kid."_

* * *

"So, what's going on, kid?" Ethan asked nonchalantly, turning back to his washing of the dirty shoes.

"Um…" Sara glanced over her shoulder quickly to be sure no one was listening in. "I just saw the doctor – Jack – lead some of the others into the jungle."

Ethan just nodded without looking up. "I noticed that too. I heard they're going to look for the cockpit to see if they can find the plane's transceiver." He almost chuckled. "They're going to get themselves killed out there. Jack has no idea what he's getting them into."

"That's all you're thinking about, them running into something strange out there?" Sara took a seat beside Ethan. "What if they stumble on the Barracks? What then?"

Ethan paused, knowing Sara wouldn't give up on the matter until he set her straight. "The Barracks are on the west side of the Island. The cockpit landed toward the northeast. They'd have to have a pretty lousy sense of direction in order to confuse the two." He looked her over and saw that worry was still etched on her face. He tried again to console her. "It'll be fine."

"Yeah, well I'm not so sure."

Ethan sighed. The look of exhaustion Sara had seen him wear the day before was back. "If this is about him being gone…"

"It's not," she stated firmly. "It's not. This has nothing to do with him. This is about making sure our community is safe and protected. The last thing Ben needs is for them to find out there are other people on this Island."

"No, the last thing Ben needs is for you to go wandering after them and getting caught. He told us to lay low and not get involved. Tell me, Sara, how is this not getting involved?"

Her answer came as quick as though it had been rehearsed. "It doesn't matter what Ben ordered us to do. I don't answer to Ben. You and I both know that. So if you want to sit here on the beach doing nothing, fine. But I'm going after them."

Ethan didn't put up a fight, didn't say or do anything to try to stop her. When Sara set herself on a mission, he knew there was not a thing in the world that would make her change her mind. She was a strong-willed individual, and he knew she took everything she said to heart. She didn't answer to Ben, she had always made that clear. She may be on his side most of the time, but that didn't mean she fell under his umbrella of authority. She was always a free soul.

Sara stood up, knowing full well Ethan had better sense than to argue with her. She turned to head back up the beach, but stopped when she heard her companion's voice.

"Sara… Be careful, kid."

"You too."

* * *

They had made it. Three hours of walking (the latter part of which was in torrential rain) and a few scrapes and bruises later and here they were, standing exhausted and soaked before the looming cockpit – the front end of which was resting on the branches of a nearby tree. Nobody spoke, nobody offered a smile or a nod of relief. Least of all Doe. For her, the battle was only half over. She had made it to her destination, sure, but when it came down to it, would it ultimately result in answers? She had to believe it would.

The only words uttered came from Jack. "Well, let's do this."

Utterly silent and somewhat hesitant, the group crossed the twenty foot stretch of grass and mud before them and ducked into the opening of the plane. What they found wasn't pretty. Bodies lay strewn in the seats, some completely hunched over, others still gripping the armrests in terror – mouths gaping wide in a silent scream. Everything was still, not a sound was heard except the torrent of rain hitting the body of the plane. A foul odor lingered in the air and combined with the mustiness brought on by the rain. It was the smell of death. Tears surfaced to Doe's eyes but she wiped them away, determined not to let this affect her. She was here for a reason, she had to focus.

"Let's get this transceiver thing and get out of here," Charlie piped up from behind Doe. The mass of bodies was beginning to take hold of everyone. It was best not to dwell on the gruesome sight before them and just get in and out as quickly as possible.

Jack started climbing through the isle first. It was slow going. The angle of the cockpit didn't help to speed up matters and neither did the slippery floor. More than once Doe almost lost her footing and had to quickly reach out and grab onto something for support. It was usually someone's lifeless arm. She bit back a cry of fright and continued to push on, unwilling to let matters get the best of her.

As they climbed nearer and nearer the cockpit, Doe chanced a glance at some of the unnamed faces. Did she know any of them? Had they been part of her life prior to the crash? She struggled to remember but came up empty each time. Frustration nagged at her heart, but she couldn't let the others know, so she forced any ambivalent feelings she had aside and focused on the climb.

Within a few minutes the group of four reached the door of the cockpit and struggled to maintain their footing while Jack forced his way in. Upon entering the confined room, Doe immediately noticed the pilot slunched over in his seat, blood oozing out of a fatal gash in his head. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to remove the image from her mind, caught her breath, then asked, "So what does a transceiver look like?"

"Like a complicated walkie-talkie," Jack informed while pulling himself further into the cockpit to get a better view of the room.

"Right. Got it." Doe tried to bring herself to look around the room, but the sickening quease of knowing that dead bodies were mere feet from her lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. She felt her insides churn with nausea and had to lean against the wall to stabilize herself.

Jack noticed this and looked at her with concern. "You alright?"

Her only means of response was to shakily nod her head despite the fact that she knew she definitely was _not_ alright.

_Gasp!_

Doe, Kate and Jack all jumped in shock as the pilot who was previously thought to be dead sat bolt upright and sucked in a giant breath of air, coughing and sputtering up flecks of mucus and blood in the process. He was alive!

That was the moment Doe lost it and retched all over the floor.

* * *

Jack and his crew may have had a head start, but no one knew this Island better than Sara, least of all a band of four wounded, disoriented plane-crash survivors. This was easy. She was crouched behind some undergrowth, watching the entrance to the cockpit, patiently waiting for the crew to emerge from the plane. Despite what Ethan and Ben had said, she wasn't about to let the four out of her sight, not when there was the possibility they could stumble upon the Barracks or any other number of things they had no business knowing about. It was her job to protect the Island. She wouldn't let these marauders get in the way of that.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Fifteen. And still no sign of the group. Sara was beginning to get impatient. Had they left through a back exit? No, they couldn't have. Half the plane was suspended in the air; the only way out was through the entrance. So where were they? She was beginning to get doubtful and was about to do a perimeter check of the plane to make absolutely certain there was no other exit when…

_Ooooooooohhhhhwww_

"Oh, shit."

Sara ducked further into the measly bush she used as her hiding spot and watched as a cloud of black Smoke streaked into view, looming above her in the clearing between the plane and her bush. It hovered in the air sending out brief flashes of light, probing its surroundings. It knew she was there, Sara was sure of it. It knew where she was, heard her ragged breathing, sensed her pounding heart. The Smoke hesitated for a moment as though contemplating its next move. Sara was frozen in place, her heart constricting with panic. There was nothing she could do but watch. In one smooth motion, it turned away from her and snaked toward the plane, beginning to circle the structure. She understood clearly: It sensed the Oceanic survivors in the cockpit and rather than maneuver its way in, it was waiting for someone to come out. This thing was smart.

After a minute or two of circling, it got what it wanted. A figure – a man – hoisted himself out of the broken window of the cockpit. What he was thinking, Sara wasn't sure, but she knew he had made a titanic mistake. The Smoke seized its opportunity and dove for the man, wrapping its inky black body around him and mercilessly ripping him from the plane. It was over in a matter of seconds. Sara turned her head away knowing what she would see if she didn't. She didn't have to look to know that the man – whoever he was – was being horribly mutilated beyond all recognition. Even over the din of the storm pounding overhead, she clearly heard the terrified screams of those still left in the cockpit as they witnessed the gruesome sight.

When Sara was certain the man was dead and finally turned back toward the clearing, she saw the black Smoke retreating into the dense jungle, the body of the man still in its grasp. Just before it was completely out of the clearing, it purposefully whipped its back end against the plane, violently dislodging it from the tree in which the nose of it was resting. As the black Smoke disappeared out of sight, the cockpit crashed to the jungle floor, sending a small tremor through the ground.

Within thirty seconds, Jack, Kate, Charlie and Doe sprinted out of the open end of the plane and ran in the very opposite direction of the black Smoke, never daring to look back. From where she was crouched, Sara could see the looks of terror on their faces as they fled into the trees and out of sight.

And just like that it was over. Sara sat behind the bush utterly alone in the clearing.

Or so she thought.

She picked herself up off the muddy ground, cursing the fact that it had only been sixteen hours since the plane-crash and the survivors had already seen too much. What must they be thinking knowing there was a potentially deadly creature made entirely of black Smoke prowling the Island? Would they hide in fear or go all _Lord of the Flies_ and attempt to kill it? For their sakes, she hoped it was the former. Definitely hoped it was the former. Most of them would be killed if they went after it, and she couldn't even begin to imagine the carnage it would inflict upon all those people. Part of her wished she could help. Unfortunately, all she could do was lay low and wait it out.

She stepped out into the clearing and took a few deep breaths to steady her heart and get her bearings. She would head back to the beach before anyone realized she was gone. No use running after Jack, Kate, Charlie and Doe for they had undoubtedly spread out in all direction, and by searching for them she risked being caught.

Sara was just about to begin her trek back to camp when she heard a rustling at the opposite end of the clearing and an ever faint _ticka-ticka_ sound that steadily grew louder.

It was coming back.

Had it been anyone else in that clearing besides Sara Poole, they would have turned tail and fled into the jungle, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the black Smoke as was possible. But not Sara. Sara knew this Island better than anyone, and she would not back down from a challenge.

In moments, Sara was staring up at the looming cloud of black Smoke hovering before her. She didn't flinch, she didn't move, everything about her was still. She wasn't afraid of it. Of him. She couldn't be. Slowly, its swirling, dark mass began to circle her body, enclosing her, cutting out any light from the sky. She was completely engulfed in its form. And still she didn't move. All thoughts of the outside world faded and her mind blurred with images. Images of her and a man dressed in black. But these weren't just images. They were memories. The touch of his hand on her shoulder. The feel of his breath on her neck. His seductive voice and persuasive words. Him handing her a sheathed, golden knife, whispering words of encouragement to her. A passionate kiss, the attraction of man and woman. And then…

The images were gone and Sara was left staring at the black Smoke. Slowly it uncurled its form from around her and just hovered once again in the clearing as though gazing at her. Although unafraid, Sara's heart raced. She stared back intently, almost wishing he would show his bodily form, almost longing to see his face again. But an instant later the shapeless mass swept past her and into the jungle after the Oceanic survivors.

She was once again alone, only this time an insurmountable wave of emotion and nostalgia clung to her, threatening to drag her down.

* * *

_"You are never going to fix it."_

_"Would you hand me the wrench, please?" Ethan called to Sara. He was lying on his back with everything from his belly button up wedged beneath Juliet's porch. One of his hands peeked out from beneath the wooden boards and flexed open expectantly, waiting for the wrench._

_"Why don't you just give up now?" Sara laughed. "You've been at this for an hour and a half."_

_"It's a work in progress," came Ethan's muffled voice. "And would you just give me the wrench?"_

_Sara bent over and placed the desired wrench in his outstretched hands and watched as he withdrew it beneath the porch. She could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke._

_"You do realize you're a surgeon, right? Not a plumber?" After a pause she added, "But if those pants slide down any farther, you might fit the bill pretty well actually."_

_"You know, I'm starting to regret asking you to help me today."_

_She smiled at his jest. I'm not, she thought. Quite the contrary, she was glad he had asked her out of the house. Ethan was right, she didn't need to stay cooped up inside, harping on her husband's absence. He'd be home in a few days. And it had been awhile since she had lazily relaxed around the community anyway. Why not take advantage of the reprieve? It seemed she was always on some mission, whether for Ben or Jacob, and now she just wanted to have senseless fun. Ethan provided that for her today, and she was grateful._

_"You know, maybe if you stopped complaining about what a poor job I'm doing as an assistant, you might actually focus long enough to fix some –."_

_Sara cut herself off as she felt the earth beneath her feet began to rumble and quake nearly throwing her off balance. She quickly dropped to the ground to avoid falling over._

_"What the hell…?" she heard Ethan exclaim from under the porch, but she didn't bother to respond. She did a quick scan of the area, gripping the grass for support. Everyone was in panic mode. She heard a few shouts of "Get under the doorways!" and watched as most complied. Windows rattled, trees shook, it felt as if the very earth was vibrating._

_And in a matter of seconds, it stopped._

_Sara stood up and Ethan quickly pulled himself out from under Juliet's porch. Slowly, their neighbors began pouring out of their houses, a cacophony of voices lost amid each other all asking the same question: "What was that?"_

_Ethan and Sara spotted Ben, their leader, at the same time as he emerged from his home, a look of hidden confusion plastered on his face. They quickly ran over to him, ready to hear what he had to say to his people._

_Ben was ready to speak to the crowd when a droning _AAAAAARRRRROOOOOooooooooooooo _cut him off. Everyone looked skyward in time to see an airplane – a regular 747 – break apart in mid air and smoothly tumble to earth, each end landing on opposite sides of the Island._

_People gasped, Sara felt her heart drop three inches. Only Ben seemed to have an immediate handle on things._

_"Goodwin! Did you see where the tail landed?"_

_"Yeah," Goodwin said, emerging from the crowd and rushing to Ben's side. "Probably in the water."_

_"If you run, you can make that shore in an hour," Ben informed. "Ethan, Sara," he turned toward the pair, "get up there to that fuselage. There may actually be survivors. And you're part of them. Passengers. You're in shock. Come up with an adequate story if they ask, stay quiet if they don't. Listen, learn, _don't get involved_."_

_Sara straightened up, officially in game-mode. Ben was giving her an order and she was about to follow it through no matter what. This was what she loved about her job._

_"I want lists in three days," Ben demanded. "Go!"_

_Sara turned to Ethan, a smile playing across her face, and he likewise returned one. Things were about to get interesting. With one last nod to Ben, Sara and Ethan took off toward the fuselage, all thoughts of playful relaxation long forgotten._

* * *

**So, there you have it. Sara Poole is an Other!! Dun dun dun! Did anyone see that coming? Be honest if you did. Also, who is her "husband" who she keeps referring to, and where is he that he's gone from her side so often? And finally, did we actually see that she was once connected to Man In Black? It seems they may have had some sort of friendship/relationship at one time or another. What happened there?**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot of fun to write. Once again, I'm leaving the next part up to you. Whose flashback would you like to see next? (Matthew Bradley, Harmony Felix, Alvie, or a new girl named Iris Palmer who I've yet to introduce?) It's all up to you. Leave some love in a review please! See y'all next time!**


	3. It Killed Them All

**Whew! Here we are with another chapter. I didn't realize how long it would take to write this. Almost nine thousand words, holy crap! But anyway, here you have it. Just as a warning, this chapter does contain a fair amount of cursing. I apologize if this offends anyone. As usual, I don't own LOST. That privilege belongs to my heroes Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse. Anyway, I now present you with chapter 3!**

**If you remember, we last left off with Jack, Kate, Charlie and Doe fleeing the cockpit after the death of the pilot via Smoke Monster.**

* * *

Jack, Kate, Charlie and Doe trekked back through the jungle toward the beach, their pace slow moving and weary. Not a half hour before, the four of them had been running for their lives, desperately searching for a way to escape some sort of animal. No, not an animal, a _monster_. Every last ounce of their energy had been spent urging their bodies forward, coaxing their legs to take bigger strides and move quicker, knowing their lives hung in the balance. Only now, after twenty minutes of exhausted running, did they feel relatively safe. The "end-of-the-world" rain as Charlie had put it had drastically subsided to the point where the sun could be seen peeking over the clouds. It came as a relief to all four of them to see the light.

Most of the camp-ward trek was spent in an even silence. No one wanted to speak of what they had seen, no one wanted to relive those horrible moments. Jack, at the front of the group, focused on fiddling with the waterlogged transceiver they had salvaged from the cockpit. He blew air into the speaker attempting to expel as much residual rain as possible.

"Is it working?" Charlie piped up from behind Doe.

She heard Jack let out the tiniest of sighs before saying, "You keep asking if it's working…"

"Well, pardon me for appearing desperate," Charlie rebuked, "but before the pilot was _ripped_ from the cockpit he did say that no one is going to find us unless we get that transceiver functioning. So, is it working?"

"No."

"Okay then." Charlie murmured.

Doe turned to look at the British rock star and found herself smiling. He wanted off this island just as much as she did. But what did she have to go home to? What was out there waiting for her? She found that Charlie's words echoed in her head. _Is there anything?_

This hike had been a mistake. Not only had she nearly been killed by some terrifying monster which she hadn't even gotten a chance to look at, but she couldn't even stomach a trip to the cockpit without getting sick. There was no point in traveling to a massive aerial grave when the very stench of death made her vomit. Nothing was there for her, and even if there had been, would she have recognized it? Or was her memory so far gone that she could very well be staring a loved one dead in the face and never think twice? It was a maddening thought.

"What were you doing in the bathroom?" Kate asked from somewhere behind Doe. The question was directed to Charlie who had mysteriously disappeared to the bathroom once the quartet had forced their way into the cockpit.

"I thought you could tell. I was getting sick," the Brit responded somewhat abashed. "Puking. My one tangible contribution to the trek."

Doe snorted.

"Something funny?" Charlie probed.

"Of course not," Doe hastened to correct. "Thankfully, you had the privacy of the bathroom in which to vomit. I, on the other hand, had nowhere to puke but down. And by "down" I mean all over the floor of the cockpit… including my shoes."

"Oh. Well, isn't that lovely," he teased, placing a hand on her shoulder in an almost playful gesture. He laughed. Doe laughed too. She looked to his hand on her shoulder, then up to his face where she found him smiling broadly. She quickly turned away, suddenly unsure of herself, and felt him remove his warm hand. In a matter of seconds, he had casually fallen instep beside Kate and continued on with their conversation. Doe pushed the awkward moment the two had just exchanged from her mind and proceeded to quicken her pace to catch up to Jack.

"Do you think there's a possibility it might work again?" Jack looked up for a moment to analyze Doe's gaze, then went back to fiddling with the transceiver.

"If we can find someone back at camp who knows technology. It doesn't look as though there's too much water damage, so it should be able to function. As to whether or not it will pick up a signal, well, that's a different matter."

In Doe's opinion, that didn't sound too promising. What were the odds that someone from a group of 48 plane crash survivors knew enough about technology to fix a complicated device such as the transceiver of a commercial airliner? It didn't give her too much hope. However, Jack didn't seem too worried by it. Perhaps they would get lucky.

The doctor stopped playing with the complicated walkie-talkie and looked up at Doe with that same searching gaze. "How're you feeling?"

"Better. Now that we're far away from that tomb of bodies."

Jack cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see that Kate and Charlie were still engulfed in their conversation. He turned back to Doe, a look of seriousness plastered on his face. "What about your memory? Did you recognize anyone or anything from the front end of the pl –."

"No." She cut him off before he could even finish the question, an air of bitterness palpable in her words. "No, I didn't."

Jack could sense the tension emanating from the woman and knew better than to press the matter further. He went back to toying with the transceiver, his mind still on the mysterious woman at his side.

Doe remained silent for the remainder of the hike.

* * *

Iris Palmer watched the brutal scene unfold before her from the safety of the surrounding ring of people who had conveniently gathered around to witness the spectacle. Two men – a rugged, scraggly, blonde man and a dark-skinned, long-haired Arab man – were each viciously trying to knock the other into submission. It had started as some sort of verbal argument, over which Iris hadn't the slightest clue, but had quickly turned into a match of brutality. A punch to the head by one, a punch to the stomach by the other, the two were relentless. Part of Iris enjoyed the fight, it was very primitive and barbaric, and it meshed well with the feel of the island. _Boys will be boys_, she thought.

As Iris continued to observe the two men, another figure sidled up beside her.

"What's going on?"

Iris glanced to her right to see that a teenage girl with short, blonde hair which flipped out in all directions had awkwardly joined the group of onlookers. Her name, Iris was fairly certain, was Harmony. Iris casually smiled, the words _I'm not too sure_ right on the tip of her tongue prepared to flow from her lips; however, she noticed something that made her halt. The teen's eyes were unfocused and glazed over, her pupils incorrectly dilated according to the glare of the sun. Curious, Iris followed the girl's gaze and found that she was staring somewhere just to the left of the masculine brawl. It clicked. The girl, Harmony, was blind and unable to see the fight taking place before them.

Iris took a moment to collect herself before turning back to the two-man battle and narrating, "Two guys, some rugged-blonde hick and an Arab man, seem to be arguing over something. Or at least they _were_ arguing. Now they're just punching each other."

"What's happening?" Harmony asked, clearly intrigued and also relieved that Iris hadn't pressed the issue of her blindness.

"The Arab guy just punched the hick in the face, but the hick got in a shot to the Arab's stomach."

In the perpetual darkness that enveloped her, Harmony could hear the two breathing heavily with each swing, and then one of the men grunted in pain.

"Oooh, the Arab punched the hick right where it hurts! It looks like the hick is down for the count… Oh, nice move!"

"What? What?"

"The hick just threw sand in the Arab's face, then pulled him to the ground. Wow, he's punching him pretty hard!"

"Hey! Break it up! Break it up!"

"Who's that?" Harmony asked curiously at the sound of another man's voice entering the circle.

"It's the doctor, Jack," Iris commentated. "Looks like they're back from the hike."

Iris watched as Jack immediately jumped into the fray and struggled to pull the hick off the Arab man. Another man, Michael his name was, also jumped in and tried to restrain the Arab. Neither looked as though they were doing a good job.

"I'll be right back," Iris said to Harmony before jumping in herself and helping Jack pull the southerner to his feet. He fought with immense strength, but the two managed to restrain him, all the while the hick shouting insults to the Arab at the top of his lungs.

"What's going on?" Jack shouted once the two men were being held apart. Iris was not about to let her grip falter on the southern man.

"My kid found these in the jungle," the man named Michael said, releasing his grip on the Arab to hand Jack a pair of handcuffs.

Jack stared at the metal restraints in his hand for a moment, his mind whirling. Iris watched in confusion, her hold still tight on the blonde man. What was going on?

"And this guy," the blonde nodded toward the Arab man aggressively, "was sitting in the back row of business class the whole flight. Never got up. Hands folded underneath a blanket. And for _some_ reason - just pointing this out - the guy I saw next to him didn't make it."

Jack looked to Iris for a moment and nodded, signaling her to release the blonde man to which she obliged. The hick glanced back at Iris for a second before stepping away from her grudgingly.

"Thank you so much for observing my behavior," the Arab shot back.

"You don't think I saw them pull you out of line before we boarded?" The hick advanced, the Arab advanced, each one shouting obscenities at the other. Jack, Michael and Iris hurriedly stepped between the two and held them apart.

"STOP!"

Everyone turned to see a brunette lady, Kate, enter the circle, an air of authority surrounding her. The hick and Arab immediately ceased all attempts to get to the other and watched to see what her next move would be.

"We found the transceiver, but it's not working. Can anybody help?" Kate looked around the group for any takers, hopeful someone could try their luck with the device.

After a moment the Arab spoke up. "Yes. I might be able to."

"Oh great!" the hick began again. "Let's trust this guy!"

"Hey, we're all in this together, man," someone - a fat man - from the crowd pointed out. "How about we treat each other with a little respect?" Iris smiled, glad that someone was keeping a level head.

The hick just looked the man up and down. "Shut up, lardo!"

"Hey, give it a break," Jack threatened. His gaze fixed on the southerner was so intense, Iris began to feel uncomfortable.

The blonde glared back for a moment, standing his ground. Iris was sure he was about to turn on Jack the way he had turned on the Arab. She poised herself, ready to pull him back if he tried anything. However, he seemed to come to some sort of personal conclusion and simply said, "Whatever you say, Doc. You're the hero." Their eyes remained locked on each other for half a moment more before the cocky southerner stalked away.

Iris watched him go, studying the swagger in his walk, the way he let his shoulders slump in a manner that was unnatural to gravity. She smirked, allowing herself to admire his I-only-look-out-for-myself attitude. He was good.

* * *

_"8 – 23 – 15" Iris mouthed silently as she rotated the small, black dial of the lock to match her locker combination for the third time. As she once again approached the final number, she pulled down on the lock praying the damned thing would finally open. It didn't. "Blast!"_

_"You're going too far," a voice from behind Iris said. She turned to see the handsome face of Ian Rice peering over her shoulder, a grin playing across his smooth, rugged features. She smiled back._

_"Oh yeah?"_

_"Yeah," he teased. "You passed 15 and stopped at 16."_

_"Yeah, well," she conceded, "these locks are faulty anyway. I mean, I'm a junior for Pete's sake. You think I'd be able to open my locker by now."_

_"Yeah, you'd think," he smiled._

_Iris felt that familiar pleasantness that accompanied Ian every time she happened to find herself in his presence. He was athletic, charming, the MVP on the Basketball team and unbearably good-looking. His sandy blonde hair was always perfectly mussed up and his skin was perpetually glistening with sweat, which, in Iris's professional opinion, made his muscles all the more irresistible to behold._

_She turned away quickly, forcing any girlish emotions away. Athletes like her never allowed themselves to be caught up in the world of mushy-gushy love. She was not that kind of girl, and he was most certainly not that type of guy._

_"So, Palmer, you up for shooting some hoops later?"_

_"Um… Yeah, I think I can find some time to kick your ass," she rebuked, fingering the lock for the fourth time. _8…23…15, not 16.

_"Oh, is that a challenge I hear over there, Palmer?" Ian punched her on the shoulder._

_"Only if you're not too scared to take it on, Rice." She pulled down on the lock and miraculously it clicked open. _Score!

_"Oh, it is on!" he stated jovially, turning away from Iris to make his way to class. By this time they were the only two remaining in the halls. "And you are going down," he added over his shoulder._

_Iris was busying herself with pulling text books from within her locker and precariously balancing them in her toned arms. "Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. Maybe one of these days it'll come true."_

_Ian Rice chuckled in spite of himself as he continued down the corridor._

RING!

_"Oh shit!" Rice cursed. "Frederickson's gonna kill me!"_

_The next thing Iris knew, the star Basketball player was sprinting down the hall toward Physics class. Iris let out an audible laugh that rang through the empty halls then finished gathering her books for class._

_She calmly made her way to Trig, knowing that – unlike Rice – her tardiness would be overlooked, for not only was she the star Volleyball player, she had maintained straight A's throughout the duration of her high school career – something Rice was never able to accomplish. She was somewhat of a star pupil._

_She smiled as the image of Ian Rice hastily sprinting down the second floor hallway played through her mind again. The two were destined to be together, and everyone knew it. He was a jock and she was a tomboy. He was the Basketball star and she was the Volleyball star. He was uncommonly good-looking and she – as many of the guys around school told her – was in a league of her own when it came to looks. Yeah, the two would get together eventually. They were made for each other._

_With this wonderful thought in mind, Iris wrenched open the door to the back stairwell and began to descend._

* * *

Doe sat on the warm metal of the fallen wing from the ill-fated plane, secluded from the rest of the survivors. Her shoes had been removed with shaking hands and tossed to the side, the hope being she could massage out any blisters before they took form on the soft soles of her feet. A bottle of Oceanic water was nestled in the sand beside her, half-empty. She fought the urge to guzzle it down, knowing there would only be a limited supply left. Staring out at the crashing waves, she hoped the steady rhythm of the shore would be enough of a relief to remove the faint feeling of nausea that lingered like a ghost in her stomach.

She released a weighty sigh and cupped the back of her neck in her hands out of stress. On the horizon she could just make out the subtle change in the afternoon sky from blue to something not-quite-gray. The promise of rain lay just a few hours distant. Her eyes stared straight ahead, lids falling slowly shut, darkness overtaking her mind.

She would have fallen asleep had the essence of familiarity not trickled into her body. Her feet bare, hands wrapped tensely around the nape of her neck, the feeling of hopelessness , of doubt. Something was right here. She had felt this way before, at another time, another place. Somewhere not here on this island. It was like some phantom of her former self. Excitement prickled inside her, but she strongly forced it away, clinging tight to this feeling. What did it mean? Where did it come from? Who was she?

Beside her, the physical jolt of someone taking a seat next to her on the wing jerked her out of her reverie and sent her crashing back into the world of now. Lost and confused.

"Mind if I join you?" Matthew Bradley asked, smiling.

Doe paused a moment more, desperate to grasp at the tendrils of remembrance, only to have them fade like smoke, leaving no trace that the memory had even existed at all.

"What's wrong?" the history teacher questioned when she didn't respond right away.

She allowed her hands to fall to her sides in defeat, sighing out a terse, "Nothing."

The two slipped into a mutual silence, sharing one another's presence and company. The feel of the wind against her face helped to abate Doe's nausea. Her hair whipped behind her, and a cooling sensation tickled her senses.

Matthew glanced over then and saw how sickly the girl actually appeared.

"Are you feeling alright?" he tested, breaking their silence. "You're so pale."

She turned and met his eyes, struggling to form a smile – and ultimately giving up at her attempt when she found she couldn't manage it. "We found the cockpit." She began hesitantly. Her stomach gurgled in protest at the thought of it, but she pushed herself on. "The bodies… It was just so grim. So many people…" The sickening quease she felt just a few hours before was unwittingly flowing back in.

"Were there any survivors?" Matthew inquired.

"Just one. The pilot. He was…" she trailed off. She could do this. Nothing gruesome about sitting here on the beach with Matthew. Push the thoughts away. "He was…" Another pause. "…Um, I don't think I feel so-."

In an instant she was on her knees in the sand, puking all over the ground, with just the thought of _Why did I have to go to that stupid cockpit?_ running over and over through her mind.

Matthew was immediately beside her, doing what guys are supposed to in this situation – holding her hair back. Once her convulsions had ceased, he helped her to her feet saying, "I think we'd better go find Jack."

* * *

"Excuse me?" Sayid spoke up as he approached a girl – if she could even be called that, for she appeared to be around 25 - who sat in the midst of a pile of various, unclaimed and assorted luggage. "Could I speak to you for a moment, please?"

The girl squinted up at him for a moment, sizing him up. She turned toward a pregnant lady seated beside her, said, "I'll be right back," then rose to her feet and followed Sayid as he casually strode through camp at a steady but brisk pace.

"I'll start by introducing myself," Sayid began. "My name is Sayid Jarrah."

"Iris Palmer," the girl responded. "But please call me Palmer."

"Palmer. Judging by the manner in which you displayed yourself today," he continued, referring to his match with Sawyer and how the brunette had jumped into the fray at the risk of her own self to help pull the two apart, "I believe I can trust you to assist me in something I am working on."

Palmer stopped walking and stared intently at him. "I'm listening."

"You are aware that Jack and his team returned to camp today with the plane's transceiver, yes?" He held up the transceiver in question, and without waiting for any indication of a response, continued, "I managed to rewire the device so that we are able to send out a distress signal; however, to turn it on here at the beach would be a waste of what little battery remains."

"So, you're saying…"

"I'm leading a hike with Kate to higher ground where we will have a better chance of acquiring a signal. I would be grateful if you would accompany us."

Palmer glanced at the dense jungle, her eyes traveling up the sloped terrain of the mountainous landscape. It would be easy to say no. It would be _safe_ to say no. Who knew what the hell was out there in that jungle just waiting to attack them? Who knew what perilous paths they would have to trek just so they could reach higher ground where they may or may not acquire a weak signal to hone in on so they could send out a distress call which may or may not be heard? Who knew if they would even come back alive?

Her eyes sparkled. "I'm in."

Sayid felt a sense of assurance and encouragement flood over him as he took in the girl's eager demeanor. "Thank you. We will be leaving in ten minutes."

* * *

"Matthew, I'm fine," Doe protested. Matthew had one hand on her upper back and was leading her toward the make-shift infirmary Jack had set up as a temporary clinic for the wounded. She tried to slow down but he kept guiding her along. "Honestly, I'm okay." Which was a lie. She felt paler than ever and wished she could curl up into a ball and forget all the images she'd seen in the cockpit. The very thought brought bile to her mouth. She choked it back.

"Doe, I'm a seventh grade teacher. I know a lie when I hear one. You're about five seconds away from losing it again, and we're on a deserted island with little medicine. The last thing we need is for you to get sick. So can you humor me, please, and just let Jack take a look at you?"

She never responded, for if she had, out would have spewed a mouthful of bile all over her and Matthew's shoes, and she was not about to give Matthew leverage over her. So she remained quiet and allowed herself to be guided into the infirmary.

Jack was crouched beside a shirtless man lying on his back. The man had what appeared to be a large – roughly the size of Jack's head – piece of shrapnel lodged into his abdomen, blood seeping from the wound. Naturally the man was unconscious. Surrounding the two men were various medical supplies – gauze, bandages, some razors, antiseptic, even tiny bottles of liquor salvaged from the alcohol cart. If Doe didn't know any better, she would say the doctor was about to perform surgery on this man. She shuddered.

Jack looked up upon hearing the pair approach. His eyes immediately flicked toward Doe, laden with concern, when he saw just how pale and sickly she had become since he last laid eyes on her. She looked like hell. Her eyes were sunken, her lips dry and cracked from dehydration, her brow glistening in a clammy sweat. He was standing at her side in a moment's notice, placing a warm hand to her forehead.

"Is everything alright?" Jack questioned, finding no irregularities in her temperature.

"I'm _fine._" Doe asserted, glaring at Matthew.

"She's not fine," the history teacher cut in. "She just lost her lunch all over the ground, yet is swearing up and down that nothing is wrong."

"You got sick again?" Jack asked Doe, to which she gave no response. He took that as a nod to the affirmative.

"Again? She was sick before?"

"In the cockpit," Jack informed. He rested one hand on her shoulder, afraid she would stumble forward if he did not keep a grip on her.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Matthew asked Doe, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She was not enjoying this, not in the least. Who the hell did they think they were? She knew her body, she knew how to take care of herself. _Do I?_ she wondered. _I don't even know who I am…_

"Because I'm _fine_. It's not a big deal. I'm just still a little nauseous from all the grim things we saw at the cockpit. That's all." She and Jack exchanged a quick glance: _Doe, did you tell him what happened back there? No, Jack, I didn't._

"Help me out here, doc." Matthew pleaded. He gaze lingered on Jack, hoping for some means of support.

Jack took his hand off Doe's shoulder and turned back to look at the man with the shrapnel in him, contemplating. "Alright, look," he began, facing the pair, "I've got to focus on making sure this guy lives to see the rescue boats, and to do that I'll need to remove that piece of metal from his stomach. It'll take me a few hours. When I'm done with him, I'll come find you and see how you're fairing. If nothing's changed, Doe, you've got to let me help you. Is that okay?"

She mulled over his words for a moment, fighting her gut reaction to blow him off with another bout of _I'm fine!_ However, after glancing again at the mask of concern that seemed to have taken permanent residence in Matthew's facial features, she conceded. "Sure."

The doctor smiled for a moment, then said, "Try taking a walk by the beach. Get some fresh air to clear your head."

"Thanks, doc," Matthew said as he turned to lead Doe toward the shore. "I owe you one."

* * *

When Palmer agreed to go on this hike with Sayid and Kate, she had assumed it was just going to be the three of them trekking through the jungle by themselves, conquering the terrain and being the heroes who ultimately guided the rescue boats to the island. But Iris had to learn the hard way that "assuming just makes an ass out of u and me." When she met Sayid and Kate at the tree-line ten minutes after Sayid had recruited her for the mission, she was majorly bummed to see that a few others had decided to tag along as well, and she would be damned if they weren't the biggest group of misfits unequipped for the job: Charlie (a washed-out rockstar), Alvie (one of the jumpiest people she had ever met), Boone (a pretty boy) and Boone's bitchy sister, Shannon. It was just about the worst scenario she could have imagined. The only good thing about this hike was that Sawyer had decided to join the cause as well – and, well, he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. In fact, Iris spent most of the trek at the back of the group talking with Sawyer. He was everything she was – tough, smooth-talking, and a hard ass when necessary. It was like they spoke the same language.

Three hours had gone by since the start of the trek, and Palmer was beginning to get antsy. Shannon had complained enough for all eight of them ten times over. At every rustle of the wind in the trees, Alvie sputtered off a train-length list of horrible creatures that could come bursting out of the jungle dressed to kill. And if Charlie hummed one more round of "You All Everybody", Boone was personally going to leap across the group and strangle him. Needless to say, they were all on edge… And Sayid still had yet to even turn on the transceiver.

"Alright," Iris murmured so only Sawyer could hear. "I'll give you two hundred bucks when we get back home if you can successfully get Sayid to fire up that radio."

Sawyer eyed her up and down for a moment, and Iris got the distinct feeling that she should be offended at the seductive look in his eye. She ignored it.

"What're you sayin', muchacha? What makes you think your money's any good here? We're on a damned island, you know. If I'm getting payment, I want something I can collect right away."

"How stupid of me for thinking you might actually take someone's word at face-value," she feigned sincerity. "I apologize." At the word "apologize", Palmer made a big, phony, bowing gesture and held her arms out as if addressing the Queen of England.

Sawyer took in her hunched form, folded his arms and smirked. "Now that's more like it."

Straightening up, Palmer said, "Alright, what do you want, then? I don't have much."

He stared straight ahead as he walked, contemplating. Finally he said, "I want free reign of your stuff."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means when we get back to camp, I want personal access to your luggage with clearance to take anything I want."

She thought it over for a second. She had nothing in her bags worth value. No jewelry, no credit cards, not even that much cash. It would be a waste of time for him to go through her belongings… But he didn't know that.

"Fine. Deal," she pretended to concede reluctantly. "Now, get to it!"

"Okay, wide open space!" Sawyer addressed Sayid at the front of the group. Everyone turned to see just why the southerner had decided to speak, all the while still plowing forward. "We should check the radio and see if we're good." Sayid was the only member of their band of misfits to remain facing forward, clearly still harboring spiteful feelings for the man who accused him of crashing the plane earlier that day.

"We're not going to have any reception here," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Just try it," Sawyer prodded.

"I don't want to waste the batteries."

"You're losing him," Iris mumbled from beside Sawyer. "Step up your game."

"I'm not asking you to keep it on all day." Iris heard the note of impatience in the southerner's tone. Things were about to hit the fan.

"We're still blocked by the mountain," Sayid rebuked calmly. Iris had to give him props. Despite having the complete and utter crap kicked out of him that morning, he was keeping his temper in check with Sawyer. Barely.

"You're losing," Iris muttered. "My stuff is going to remain my stuff."

And that's when it all came crashing down.

"JUST. CHECK. THE. DAMN. RADIO!"

Sayid whirled around in a frenzy.

"IF I 'JUST CHECK' WE MIGHT NOT HAVE ANY JUICE LEFT WHEN WE GET TO –"

_Grrrrooooaaaaaaarrrrrhhhhh_

The sound – a growl, a roar, whatever it was – was enough to stop Sayid mid-sentence and cause the entire group to turn and stare in a frightened silence at the dense foliage before them. All the greenery of the foreign plants and viney trees prevented them from seeing anymore than a few feet into the jungle. From deep within, they heard a bush rustle, then a branch snap. Something was coming closer. And it was big.

"What the hell is that?" Boone asked quietly, the fear was apparent in his voice.

Another snap of a branch.

"Something's coming," Kate barely whispered.

"Yo, I _knew_ this was some dinosaur shit!" Alvie spoke up.

Suddenly, the snapping of branches and the pounding of dirt underfoot could be heard rapidly, growing louder. It was as though someone was steadily turning up the volume. That wasn't good.

"It's coming towards us, I think," Charlie concluded.

The tension in the air was thick and stifling. Finally Kate jolted them all back into reality by saying, "Come on. Let's move!" and took off in the opposite direction.

The rest weren't too far behind her. Sayid ran full force, pushing Kate along as he caught up to her. Charlie and Alvie both kept stealing glances behind them, estimating how long before a velociraptor leapt from the undergrowth and struck a deadly blow with its razor-like teeth. Boone grabbed Shannon's forearm and dragged her along as she screamed, "I shouldn't've come on this hike!"

But just as Iris made a move to take off after them, Sawyer grabbed her wrist and held her in place.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she asked, frightenedly, trying desperately to wrench her arm out of his grasp. He just clung tighter.

Sawyer looked down at her and smirked. He actually smirked! Then he said, "Watch this."

With one hand still wrapped around Iris's wrist, he used the other to reach around into the back of his jeans and withdrew a .9mm handgun. Palmer stared at it, wide-eyed, as he aimed it into the dense foliage and fired off eight shots. He barely even flinched from the kick-back. By the ninth shot, a massive, white, snarling animal launched itself into the clearing, poised to attack. However, Sawyer fired two more bullets into the creature's flesh, and it collapsed.

Iris and Sawyer watched as it took a few more ragged breaths, then went limp, dead.

Slowly, the rest of the group made their way back to the scene, hesitant and fearful. Surprisingly, Shannon was the first to speak. "That's… That's a big bear."

"Do you think that's what killed the pilot when you guys trekked out to the cockpit?" Boone asked Charlie and Kate.

"No," Charlie answered. "No, that bear is a _tiny_, rather _teeny_ version compared to whatever sort of monster killed the pilot."

"Are you saying," Alvie began, frenzied, "that when you guys went and found the transceiver, that the pilot was still _alive?_ But that something _much bigger_ than this bear killed him?... Oh, we're dead. So, so dead. Why the hell are we even still out here in this cursed jungle? Man, rescue boats or no rescue boats, I say we nicely pack up our things and _get the hell out of here!_"

"Alvie, be quiet," Iris began quietly. Now that Sawyer had released her wrist, she massaged it with her other hand. "Am I the only one noticing the obvious here? Guys, this isn't just any bear. It's a polar bear."

An eerie silence fell over the group as they studied the dead, white bear at their feet. It was impossible. And yet…

"No," Boone said in disbelief. "No, that can't be a polar bear."

"It's a polar bear," Iris, Sayid, Kate and Alvie all spoke in unison.

"What else could it be?" Iris continued, staring at Boone. "Alvie, do _not_ answer that."

"Wait a minute," Shannon spoke, as though struck with brilliance. Everyone turned to look at her hopefully. "Polar bears don't usually live in the jungle."

Genius!

"Yeah, well this one does," Boone rebuked with the tiniest note of hostility toward his sister. The tension between the two was clear. They were the type of siblings that fought over everything. Wonderful.

"_Did_," Sawyer corrected, tucking the handgun back into his jeans. "It _did_." He began walking away from the scene, clearly growing bored by their current situation. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions.

Kate was suddenly on edge and eyeing the southerner warily. It took her a moment to speak, as if she had to force out the words. "Where did that come from?"

He kept walking. "Probably Bear-Village. How the hell should I know?"

"Or maybe extra-terrestrials have been conducting experiments with Earth species, and they're slowly trying to shape the way we live life so it better suits their own needs!" Three guesses who said that.

Iris spoke up, ignoring Alvie's outburst. "She means the gun."

Sawyer stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face the rest of the group who were all staring back at him expectantly. No one moved. He was the one with the gun, they would let him do the talking.

"I got it off one of the bodies."

"No, you didn't," Shannon spoke again. "People aren't allowed to carry guns on planes." This chick was two for two. Just give her the Nobel Prize right now!

"_Unless_ it was from some top-secret, undercover government-agent, sent to do a little recon on –."

"Stop your gibber-gabber, pipsqueak!" Sawyer interrupted Alvie. He then turned back to Shannon. "There was a US Marshal on the plane, sweetcheeks. He was lyin' there, pretty damn close to death, during the crash. I saw he had an ankle-holster on, so I took the gun in case it might come in handy. And guess what? I. just. shot. a. bear!"

"I know who you are," Sayid suddenly said, menacingly. "You were the Marshal's prisoner. Those handcuffs that were found today were on you. Weren't they? Don't lie, you son-of-a-bitch."

"Okay, fine," Sawyer responded in that southern drawl. "If you wanna be stereotypical, sure. I'm the criminal. You're the terrorist. We can all play a part!" He advanced toward Shannon. "Who do you wanna be?"

"Oh, that's easy," Alvie interjected. "She's the dumb blonde."

"Hey!"

Before anyone knew what was happening, Kate advanced toward Sawyer who had his back to her. She reached into his jeans, pulled out the gun and aimed it straight at his heart. He turned to stare at the brunette, a smirk plain on his face. He was impressed.

Everyone else was silent – waiting with bated breath.

"Does anyone know how to use a gun?" Kate asked the group, still keeping her eyes fixed on Sawyer.

"Yeah, just pull that trigger," Alvie stated.

"Alvie, you're not helping," Iris shot at him.

Kate remained calm and in control. "I want to take it apart."

The tension in the group subsided as everyone took a breath of relief. No blood would be shed today – at least not with the gun.

Sayid quickly explained how to properly dismantle the firearm, and in a matter of seconds Kate had removed the two rounds of bullets contained in the gun. She passed the clips to Sayid and handed to empty gun back to Sawyer. He took it with a grin and shoved it back into his jeans.

A silence hung over the group for a few moments – no one knew what to say or do. Finally Sayid spoke up, "We must keep moving. We cannot turn on the transceiver here. A signal will not be picked up, and I do not want to waste what little battery we have."

Quietly, the team of eight continued onward, stepping around the polar bear's lifeless body as they went. Iris hung at the back of the group with Sawyer.

She smiled at him. "You lose."

* * *

_Iris wrenched open the door to the back stairwell and began to descend. She took her time going down step… by step… by step… by step. Not exactly productive, but it certainly killed time – time that would normally be spent working on the __Pythagorean Theorem and_ the Quadratic formula. Taking her time traveling down steps, she thought, was a good replacement for that.

_As she neared the first landing, she heard what sounded like a dripping tap. A rather loud dripping tap. This puzzled her. She was in a stairwell. No need for any kind of liquids to be in here. Yet, still, it was plain as day._

_When she hit the landing and turned to descend the next flight of stairs, she saw a scene that caused her heart to constrict in fear. Hunched over on the ground, wheezing, choking desperately for air was another student. A boy. His breath came in gasps and echoed off the walls. This was the dripping sound. A human being._

_Iris immediately dropped her text books with a loud _BANG_ and tore down the stairs, skidding to a halt on her knees at the boy's side._

_He was clutching his chest, wheezing out a chorus of ungodly sounds, his face turning red and then gradually to purple. Iris just stared, transfixed, horrified. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. What was she supposed to do? The Heimlich? CPR? She didn't know any of those procedures. And it didn't even appear as if the boy was aware of her presence. He just stared at the floor. Choking._

_Something finally clicked in Iris's brain. She had to get help. He needed someone. Someone who wasn't her – someone who could actually _do_ something._

_She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm going to get help!"_

_She didn't wait for a response, she still wasn't entirely sure he knew she was there. She took off out of the stairwell and down the hallway, shouting, "Help! Please, someone. HELP!"_

* * *

"Hey, Doe?" Matthew asked the girl beside him. The two had been walking the shore-line for a half-hour, running their feet through the lapping waves and enjoying the cool sea breeze. Doe seemed significantly less pale and more like a healthy human being now that she was breathing in the fresh air. It gave him a sense of relief.

"Hmm?"

"Something you said earlier. About the pilot. You said he was still alive when you went to the cockpit." Matthew paused, watching as Doe fingered a spiral seashell in her hands. She was very dainty about it – each movement of her fingers calculated yet delicate. Unwittingly, his thoughts began to drift to his fiancé, and he realized just how completely and utterly contrasting the two women were. His fiancé was everything Doe wasn't. And yet… Something about this girl could capture his attention in a moment's notice.

"Is there a question in there somewhere?"

Her words jerked Matthew back into reality.

"Well, it just made me wonder. How come the pilot didn't come back with you?"

He noticed her step falter and her fingers stop fiddling with the shell. She stared out to the ocean, turning her face from his. Was she about to get sick again? Was it something he said?

"…He was killed."

Woah. Matthew stopped dead in his tracks, too shocked to move. "What? How?"

The breeze whipping her hair, Doe too stopped and turned to face Matthew. "He said we lost communication with the ground about thirteen hours into the flight."

"How was he killed?"

She refused to meet his gaze, willing away the horrible images he was asking her to recall. She fought the tears that surfaced to her eyes. "He said we turned around and headed for Fiji – and that's when the turbulence hit."

"How did the pilot die?"

A nauseousness rose through her stomach and into her throat. "He said we're a thousand miles from where we should be, and that the rescue boats are looking for us in the wrong-."

"Doe. How was he killed?"

She suddenly shot her gaze to meet his, her eyes brimming with tears and burning with a fierceness that caused Matthew to take a step backward. "You wanna know how he died? He was brutally ripped through the window of the cockpit by that _monster_ and dragged through the jungle screaming! We found his mutilated body dangling from a tree, covered in blood! _That's_ how he was fucking killed."

She lost it. The tears flowed from her eyes and spilled out all her grief, stress and anger onto the sand. She wanted to sob, to cry out, but she held it in.

Matthew made a move to embrace her, to comfort her and protect the fragile girl before him. "I knew I shouldn't've let you go to that cockpit. It was smarter for you to stay on the beach."

Doe forcefully pushed him away, her heart-rate building. "_Excuse_ me? You shouldn't have _let_ me go?"

"Doe, that's not what I-."

"No! I know exactly what you meant! You don't think I can take care of myself. You think you need to protect me, to shelter me. Well, you know what? I don't need protecting. I don't need _you! _I can take care of myself, Matthew."

"Doe." He took a step toward her, hurt etched on his face.

"No! Just leave me the hell alone!" she yelled as she turned away and stalked up the beach, determined to put as much distance between herself and Matthew possible.

Matthew stood frozen there, shocked and confused. What just happened?

* * *

Iris's muscles ached. Bad. Which was saying quite a bit because it took a lot for someone like Iris Palmer to stress her muscles into soreness. This hike was turning out to be a bitch. She could only imagine how the others were feeling. She was willing to bet that most of them didn't have half the physical training that she put her body through. She was athletic and she wanted to stay that way.

Even Sawyer's muscles were tensing, although he made a valiant effort not to show it. But Iris saw how he struggled to keep his legs working as they climbed the grassy hill into the open air. She smiled in spite of herself. He was weak. She found that kind of hilarious.

At the back of the group, Sayid pulled out the transceiver and began to fiddle with the knobs. His pace slowed as he focused on the mechanical device.

"Oh, _sure!_" Sawyer exclaimed. "_Now_ is a good time to pull out the radio. Not before, but _now."_

Iris gave Sawyer a broad smile which he returned by rolling his eyes. "We're up higher, dumbass," she scolded playfully.

"The hell we are."

Iris just kept smiling and continued to walk on. Shannon was practically stumbling up the hill, and Boone watched his sister cautiously out of the corner of his eye. These two weren't even remotely equipped to be on this hike. Iris sort of felt bad for them. But at the same time, they were the ones who asked to be here in the first place. Not her problem.

"Hey!" Sayid suddenly shouted from behind them. "WE'VE GOT A SIGNAL!"

Everyone ran to Sayid's side, listening with bated breath as he adjusted the frequency and spoke into the speaker. "Mayday. Mayday."

A shrill whine came over the radio and violently split the air. A few members of the group covered their ears.

"What the hell is that?" Alvie complained.

"Feedback," Sayid stated, still tampering with the knobs.

"What? So, like, it's broken or somethin'?" Alvie questioned.

"No," Sayid said, thinking. "No, it can't be broken. We just can't transmit because something else is already transmitting."

A murmur of excitement pulsed through the group of eight.

"Transmitting from where?" Iris asked.

"Somewhere close," Sayid replied. "The signal is quite strong."

"You mean, like, the island?" Iris questioned.

Charlie perked up. "That's great!"

"How is that great?" Boone turned to Charlie. "It's probably other survivors."

Shannon looked to Boone as though she'd never seen anything quite like him. "From _our_ plane? How would that even work?"

"Can we listen to it?" Kate asked, ignoring the siblings.

"Let me find the frequency first," Sayid said and began fiddling with the knobs again.

Sawyer scoffed. "There ain't no transmission."

Iris stared at the southerner for a moment. "You really are a sore loser, aren't you?"

Static came over the speakers for a few seconds and then…

A voice!

"Bloody hell, it's the French!" Charlie exclaimed as the foreign female voice spoke softly through the speaker. "I've never been so happy to hear the French!"

Another wave of excitement passed through the group. Alvie actually jumped up and down in a state of joy. "Holy shit, yo! We did it!"

"Wait," Kate said. "I never took French. What is she saying?"

"Does anyone here speak French?" Sayid addressed the group.

Boone whipped his head to look to Shannon. "She does."

"What?" Shannon exclaimed. "No. I don't!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he shouted. "You spent an entire year in Paris!"

"Yeah. Drinking, not studying-."

A new voice on the transceiver cut the sibling argument off. It was a male's voice. Very deep and cold.

_Iteration: 7294531_

"No!" Sayid suddenly shouted as the French transmission resumed.

"What?" Kate asked.

"The batteries are dying!"

Boone rounded on Shannon. "I've heard you speak French!"

"Hey, guys!" Iris shouted over the din created by the group. "I speak French."

_Iteration: 7294532_

"Enterration?" Alvie asked. "What the hell are Enterrations?"

"Iteration," Sayid corrected. "It's a count of how many times the message has been repeated. The message is roughly thirty-seconds long… So that would be…"

Sayid quickly set to work with the math involved in figuring out the lifespan of the transmission. Meanwhile, Iris grabbed the transceiver from Sayid and pressed it to her ear.

_Iteration: 7294533_

As the French transmission resumed, Iris translated. "'I'm alone now. I'm on the island alone. Please – _someone_ – come. The others are dead. It killed them. It killed them all…'" After a few seconds of silence from the machine, Iris said, "Sayid, I think the batteries are dead."

She handed the Middle Eastern man back the dead transceiver. All was silent amongst the group.

"Sixteen years," Sayid finally spoke disbelievingly. "Sixteen years and five months – that's the count."

"Wait, what the hell are you talking about?" Alvie piped up.

"The iterations," he explained numbly. "This message is a distress call, a plea for help, a mayday, whatever you wish to call it. If the counter is right, this message has been playing over and over for sixteen years."

A silent chill shot through the group.

"Someone else was stranded on this island?" Boone stated.

"Well, maybe someone came for her," Kate said. "Maybe she was rescued."

"If she was rescued," Iris asked, equally as numb as Sayid, "then why is the message still playing?... She's still here isn't she?"

No one spoke. It was a heavy question. Could it be possible that a woman crashed on the island sixteen years ago and still had yet to be rescued?

Suddenly their surroundings seemed less inviting. It felt as if the jungle was moving in closer, attempting to swallow them whole. They felt so insignificant in this alien territory which they knew nothing about.

After a few more seconds of heavy silence, Charlie spoke what everyone in the group was thinking.

"Guys, where the bloody hell are we?"

* * *

_Iris stood in the hallway beside the school nurse with her back against the lockers watching as the paramedics carted the boy – Mark Grange his name was – into the ambulance. Lying on the gurney, the limp boy had an oxygen mask pressed to his nose and mouth, filling his lungs with clean air._

_Iris's heart still hadn't fully unclenched. She could still feel the fear and worry pulsating through her veins. What was this? Iris Palmer didn't get scared. Iris Palmer never felt helpless or out of control of a situation. She could always handle herself, even in the most dire of circumstances._

_So why couldn't she stop starring as Mark was hoisted into the ambulance? Why were her hands shaking? Why was her breath coming in such shallow spurts?_

_Before she knew it, one of the paramedics approached her. Iris should have noticed that he looked very smart and somewhat handsome in his uniform; however, current circumstances prevented her from noticing such details._

_He must have noticed how shaken up she was, because he spoke simply and directly._

_"Mr. Grange had a severe asthma attack in the stairwell. We've got him on oxygen now, and we'll continue to nurse him back to health at the hospital." Iris forced herself to focus. She listened to every word the man spoke. "Mark was very lucky you were there, Ms. Palmer. If you hadn't taken action like you did, Mr. Grange would probably not be here with us at the moment. You saved his life." Those words should have struck a chord with Iris, should have made her feel good about herself or given her a sense of pride. They didn't. "I want you to relax. Mr. Grange is in good hands now. He's going to be perfectly fine. You did well today. You should be very proud of yourself."_

_Iris forced herself to smile, and the man walked away. In a few moments, the ambulance doors were closed, the sirens blared, and the vehicle which held Mark Grange sped off toward the hospital._

_The nurse, who up until this point had been silent, stood before Iris and said, "He's right you know. You are a hero."_

_Iris's words choked in her throat. She didn't know what to say. She sure as hell didn't feel like a hero._

_"I should get to class."_

_Before waiting for a response from the nurse, Iris had turned and retreated down the hall toward Trig class._

_If watching someone almost die was considered being a hero, then she sure as hell didn't want to be one._

* * *

**So there we have it. Doe doesn't appear to be getting along with Matthew any longer, and Iris and Sawyer seem to be forming some kind of brother-sister-love-hate relationship/friendship. And how exactly does Iris know how to speak French? Hm…**

**Anyway, reviews mean the world to me, guys. A few days ago I went back and read all the reviews for this story and it gave me major energy to finish this chapter. Every single review I get is more appreciated than you will ever know. I thank you all.**

**Until next time…**


	4. I'll Keep The Damn Gun

**Alright, so here I am with the next installment of If We Can't Live Together. I must say, I wasn't sure if this chapter was going to happen for a while. You see, I'm starting my first semester of college in a few days, and I didn't think this would be done by then. I know my workload is going to slow me down for future writing, but I am determined to kick out chapters as often as I possibly can.**

**Anyway! Enough of my rambling. I now give you Chapter 4!**

**If you remember, we last left off with Sayid's group discovering the French transmission…**

**

* * *

**

Sara sat on the shoreline, butt planted firmly in the wet sand, feeling the moisture soak into the skin on her backside. Her jeans had been rolled up to just below her knees, allowing her feet to roam freely in the lapping water and her toes to tickle at the ebb and flow of the waves. If any of the Oceanic survivors had walked by and spared her situation a curious thought, it would've been concluded that she was just another hopeful, eagerly awaiting the distant signs of rescue. In the true sense of reality, however, this was where Sara felt most comfortable – most at home. Starring at the rhythmic waves allowed her mind to wander to places she had never been. The ocean brought her a sense of possibility, of sense of wonder. What lay just beyond the sea? Where could the tides take her? What new lands sat just distant of the horizon? This was where she came to relax and clear her mind when she was stressed. And Sara Poole was feeling very stressed.

Unfortunately for her, at that exact moment, Ethan Rom sidled up beside her and likewise planted his rear in the sand.

He didn't speak at first, and Sara felt the desire to slide further away from him. They hadn't spoken since that morning, before Sara had left in pursuit of Jack and his team up to the cockpit. The two had parted company on some uncertain terms, and Sara wasn't sure if she was feeling up to the conversation she knew Ethan was about to have with her. The moon was coming up just over the horizon, and Sara could think of nothing more she wanted to do than to curl up on the beach, undisturbed, and sleep peacefully for the night.

However, Ethan being Ethan would not allow that to happen without first discussing a few things he had on his mind. So, Sara took a deep breath and prepared herself.

"What happened today?" he began in a tone that was not unkind. If anything, he sounded more curious than demanding. "You haven't spoken to me since you got back."

"Oh, well pardon me, but I hadn't realized I needed to check in with you after every little task I've done," Sara said, rather coldly. "I apologize."

"Sara –."

"No, you're absolutely right. How stupid of me!" she continued on in a frenzied attitude. "You should know that after I came back from the cockpit, I helped Charlie search the fuselage for his missing guitar, which, by the way, is still nowhere to be found, so if it turns up, please let us know. After that, I helped the fat guy, Hurley I believe his name is, ration out what little food is left to the survivors who most need it – the pregnant girl, the ten-year-old boy, you get where I'm going with this. And lastly, I came down here to get my mind off things and just relax for a few short minutes by the water, because, believe it or not, Ethan, I've had a long day. Is that okay by you?"

Ethan sort of sat there, stunned for a few moments. He and Sara had had a disagreement earlier that morning, there was no denying that, but it was nothing worth going off the deep end for. This sudden burst of emotion, which was indeed a rarity for Sara, ran deeper than a trivial argument, Ethan was fairly certain of it. Something else was on the brunette's mind.

Before he could voice this concern, however, Sara had started again, this time more calm and in control than before. "I'm sorry. I've just had a lot on my mind today. And it doesn't help that Ben's sent us out on this wild-goose-chase of a mission." She chuckled on that last bit, hoping to ease the tension she had built up between herself and Ethan. She hadn't intended to drive a wedge between her and the only other ally she had out here, yet somehow, she had done just that.

Ethan didn't return the light-hearted sentiment. Instead, he pressed on in a more serious matter.

"No," he said, disclaiming her last remark. "It's not this mission that's got you on edge - you thrive on this stuff."

Sara shot him a look. He was trying to delve into her emotions. She didn't take to that too well, but she kept her mouth shut – another rarity for her.

"I know what you're feeling," Ethan continued in a calm tone. His facial features relaxed, giving her a sense of sympathy. "It's hard when a loved one is gone. But things get easier with time-."

"My husband _isn't_ gone," Sara cut him off. She had to force her voice to remain in control. "He's not dead, Ethan. He's just away. He'll be back soon."

"I know. I'm sorry," Ethan hastened to correct. "I meant that you're not with him, and that's incredibly trying on any relationship. Especially for you two. You've been together longer than anyone else on this Island."

Sara wanted to say something back to the man seated beside her, but found that she came up empty. Truth was, that was exactly how she felt about her husband. It was like the two of them shared the same air, the same soul. When they were apart, it was like her very spirit was missing from her body. She hated when he was away, _hated_ that Ben sent him on so many missions off-Island.

However, as much as she was hurting at the absence of her husband, this was not the cause of her stress. Not by a long shot.

But she'd be damned if she ever spoke about what was really causing her worry. It was no one's business but her's.

Thankfully, Ethan broke the silence between them and she was able to pull her mind away from her thoughts.

"So, you going to tell me what happened at the cockpit?"

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Sara smiled wryly at Ethan. "I thought you didn't want to get involved? Following Ben's orders and all."

"Sara, if something happened at that cockpit, I should be made aware of it so-."

"Cool your jets," Sara cut him off, kicking up a spray of water with her toes. "Nothing happened. They got there, got the transceiver and left. Nothing major."

"You're sure?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "No. I blacked-out halfway through the trek and woke up in the middle of the jungle. Thankfully a polar bear was there to give me a ride to the cockpit. I made it just in time to see the four of them heading back to camp. _Yes_, Ethan, I'm sure."

He nodded his head, satisfied.

By this time, the moon had risen high into the sky, bathing the beach in a ghostly moonlight. Campfires canvased the beach, each one shedding warmth and light to a few Oceanic survivors. The scene was almost beautiful. Almost.

Cutting through the roar of the ocean came the sound of agonized moaning. Sara and Ethan both turned their heads in the direction of the noise to see that it was coming from the makeshift infirmary that had been set up by Jack. It was now common knowledge amongst the survivors that the tent housed a United States Federal Marshal. A Marshal who was very close to death.

"He's not going to last much longer," Sara said soberly, turning back to face the ocean. She had seen many deaths in her day, but none of them compared to the torture this man was facing. He was dying. Slowly.

"I'd give it about a day or two," Ethan replied, "depending on what type of meds these people can salvage from the wreckage. But he won't make it."

Sara cringed at the thought. Having to endure all that pain and torture just to die in the end anyway just didn't seem right. Her heart ached a little for the man whom she had never even laid eyes on. For his sake, she hoped it ended quickly.

"What do you make of_ her_?" Ethan asked suddenly, straying from the topic.

Sara turned to see him nod in the direction of one of the campfires across the beach. Seated there was the girl Sara had sat with that morning on the shore. Her name, she was fairly certain, was Harmony. And she was blind.

"I'm not sure yet," Sara replied slowly, contemplating the words as she said them. "She's curious, isn't she? You know, I've seen this Island do many things: strengthen the lame, cure the sick, heal the wounded."

"Yet, why can't she see?" Ethan said, continuing her thought. "I've been wondering the same thing."

"You think Jacob's got something to do with it?" she queried.

With a few moments of lingering silence before him, Ethan stood up, brushed the sand from his feet and said, "You'd know better than me." And in a matter of seconds, the man was striding up the beach, away from Sara and the ocean.

Unfazed, the brunette girl sat there a few minutes longer, mulling over her thoughts. It surpassed all her knowledge how the teen girl could crash onto this Island and still be sightless. It was highly improbable; Ben would say _impossible_. It was an intriguing situation. And Sara was determined to learn more.

* * *

"Okay, wait," Alvie said, cutting through Kate's train of thought. It was night, and the eight of them were seated around a small campfire Sayid had built. After having picked up the French transmission a few hours before, the group had decided it was best to spend the night out in the open field rather than walk back to camp in the dark. With polar bears and tree-ripping monsters out in the jungle, none of them were eager to risk the trip. "Exactly why is it that the rescue planes aren't going to find us?"

The seven remaining group members groaned. Alvie had asked this question twice before during the conversation, each time receiving a more than adequate explanation from Kate which was then immediately lost on the Dominican man. The story had been repeated so many times that even Shannon felt she could retell it. But somehow, it still wasn't getting through to Alvie.

Kate repressed another groan, opening her mouth to recount the tale for the third time in an hour. Sayid, however, sensing her frustration, was quick to interject.

"Alright, _this_," Sayid began, picking up a large rock from beside him and placing it on the ground for everyone to see. "_This_ is Australia. And _this_," he said while taking the stick he had been using to stoke the campfire and dipping the tip into the flames. "_This _is our plane." He held up the ignited stick for everyone to see, namely Alvie. Sayid was making this painfully easy for him to understand. If Sayid was unable to get the story across to him after this little demonstration, it was clear that nobody could.

Everyone in the circle watched as the Middle Eastern man held the flame over Australia Rock for a few seconds, then slowly begin to move it away. "We flew along the same north-east route every commercial airliner bound for Los Angeles does. Now, the pilot said we lost communication with the ground six hours into our flight. He turned around and guided the plane toward Fiji, thinking that by doing so, we could land and reestablish communication. Unfortunately, with no link to the ground, no one knew we had changed course." Sayid quickly angled the stick off in a different direction, demonstrating to Alvie the pilot's decision. Iris watched Alvie from where she sat. He looked transfixed on what Sayid was saying. Could it be possible that the situation was finally getting through to him? Or, Iris added as an afterthought, could it just be that he was hypnotized by the fire? She passively leaned against the log she had her back to and rubbed the weighing sleep from her eyes.

"Next, the turbulence hit, way before the plane ever reached Fiji," Sayid concluded, snuffing out the flames in the grass. "And we know the rest."

Silence prevailed among the group. Having the story recounted for a third time – and with visuals no less – did nothing to raise anyone's spirits. Rescue wasn't coming. It was a simple concept – simple, but disturbing.

"Alright, well thanks for the puppet show," Sawyer's southern drawl cut through the silence. "Now, why don't we talk about what we're not talkin' about. You know, that little French transmission we picked up? That voice that said everybody was dead. It's been playin' for somethin' near sixteen years, right? Ring any bells? Yeah, let's talk about that."

"I think you pretty much nutshelled it for us," Iris said, glancing at Sawyer who was seated beside her. "Didn't really leave us anything to talk about. But thanks anyway."

Sawyer quietly stared at her for a few seconds. She was something else.

"We're gonna have to tell them. You know, when we get back to camp," Boone spoke up. "We're gonna have to tell them what we heard on that transmission."

"They're not going to take kindly to it," Charlie stated.

"Not by a long shot," Iris added.

"We can't tell them what we heard."

Everyone shot a look toward Sayid who had spoken with full authority. His eyes were soft, however; as if it hurt him to say the words.

"You have to understand," he continued, "If we tell them what we know, it will take away their hope. And I think we are all aware that hope is a very dangerous thing to lose."

"So you want us to lie." Iris wasn't asking a question, just merely stating what Sayid had already proposed to them. She didn't like the idea, and judging by everyone's downcast eyes, no one else was big on the plan either. But Sayid had a point. It would cause mass hysteria at the beach if the survivors knew any hope of rescue was quickly fading.

"Sayid's right," came the unexpected voice of Alvie. If the group was stunned at Sayid's proposition, they were even more baffled that the first to agree with him was Alvie. "Think about it. This is exactly like what's happening in Area 51. If the government tells the United States that aliens actually exist, then the entire population goes into panic mode, and before you know it, all hell breaks loose. People stop believing in God, start worrying that alien invasion is eminent. The world will never go back to the way it was. So what does the government do? They keep it under their hats. As long as no one is aware of the big picture, nobody has anything to worry about. It's like the exact same thing we're dealing with here. You know, minus the aliens. I think."

"Couldn't've said it better myself, Zippy," Sawyer mocked.

"No, Alvie is right," Iris said, coming to Alvie's defense. It took guts for him to speak up. She respected that. "We have no idea what kind of affect this news will have on everyone. I think we should keep it to ourselves for now."

Eventually, a murmur of consent went up from every person in the group. Tomorrow, upon returning to camp, they would admit that they were unable to acquire a signal. The journey had been a waste of time, ultimately resulting in a dead end.

The very notion tasted sour to everyone.

* * *

Night had fallen drastically over the last few hours, and in the perpetual darkness that encompassed her being, Harmony could hear the deep, steady breaths of those survivors who lay around her, sleeping as peacefully as was possible on the unfamiliar beach. The nineteen-year-old, however, could not find a suitable position –whether on her back or on her side – to get comfortable and allow sleep to wash over her. She felt trapped, surrounded on all sides. She didn't like the feeling of sleeping in such close proximity to other people. She could hear their breathing, feel the warm exhale of their breath on her skin, even hear their groaning stomachs which ached from little food. It was maddening.

Quietly, Harmony rose to her knees and proceeded to crawl her way to a more vacant area of the beach, reaching out her hands to feel if any obstacle lay before her. A few times, she almost collided directly with a large piece of debris. As it was, she heard a few bodies stir from her uncoordinated movement. Eventually, however, she was able to locate a patch of sand a good distance away (if Harmony had to guess, she would've said it was about ten yards from any other survivors, however, without someone there to tell her, it was impossible for her to know).

Finally, and with a bit of a smile, Harmony stretched onto her side, tucked one arm beneath her head and drifted off to sleep.

…..

The instant she fell asleep, Harmony knew she was dreaming. She was standing alone on the beach, not a survivor nor any sign that a plane had ever crashed there in sight. The sun shone brilliantly and beat its heavy and exhilarating rays onto her skin. The blue, rolling waves cascaded to shore, the spray misting her neck.

Harmony took in the familiar beach, staring at each wonderful detail in awe. No matter how many times she visited this place, it still took her breath away, and she seemed to find new and intriguing sights each time she turned her eyes in a different direction. It was beautiful.

Suddenly, movement on the edge of her vision caught her attention. She quickly swung her head around in time to see a man hastily disappearing into the jungle. There he was. He was here. Without pausing to take a breath, Harmony was running full out after him. Him, the dark-haired man who had plagued her dreams for so long. He was just a few feet ahead of her. If he slowed down in even the slightest way, she would have him. She pushed foliage and vines out of the way, jumped over roots and divots in the ground, pumped her arms harder, faster. She would catch him this time. She would finally speak to him and hear his voice. It was what she had wanted for four years. Just a little closer. A little closer.

In an instant, the dark-haired man burst into a clearing in the jungle, followed closely behind by Harmony. He stood there, facing her, staring at her. She halted, the gap between them no more than five feet at most. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. She had to know who this stranger was.

"What are we doing here?" she asked him, probably a little louder than necessary. "Who are you?"

He opened his mouth, prepared to speak.

And then Harmony was thrown back into a darkened world.

…..

The blonde girl woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the sand. The first thing she noticed was that the air was crisp and cool, meaning it was still night. Upon further analysis, she could just make out the distant snores of a fellow survivor, although which survivor she was neither sure of nor cared about. The next feeling that occurred to her was that she had failed, yet again, to meet with the dark-haired stranger. Frustration rose to her chest, and she began breathing heavily. Wasn't this the whole reason she was here? Weren't her dreams supposed to become clearer? Had she known this Island would only lead to more riddles, she never would have…

Suddenly, another thought forced its way into her mind. It was abrupt and without warning. What if he was here, right now, watching her? What if he was just inside the jungle, waiting; waiting for her to meet him?

Before she had the chance to think twice about it, Harmony was up and running toward the jungle, blindness be damned. She had had that dream countless times before, hadn't she? She was on, right now, the very Island from her dreams, wasn't she? This wasn't a problem, it wasn't even a challenge. It was muscle memory. She burst into the jungle, pushing away the same foliage and vines and leaping over the same roots and divots she had done not five minutes ago in her dream. This was easy.

Within minutes, she was standing in the clearing, hesitant, listening for any indication that another human being occupied the space with her. The air was still. The only detectable sound came from that of her own ragged breathing.

"Where are you?" she asked out loud.

Nothing.

"Where are you?" she asked again, louder, hearing her voice resonate throughout the clearing.

Nothing.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

As the fading echoes of her unanswered question died in the trees, Harmony had to give in to the undeniable fact that her stranger wasn't here.

This was stupid. It was completely and utterly ridiculous. How could she have allowed herself to believe that this dream, this fantasy of hers, was real? How could she have let herself wander all this way into the jungle in the middle of the night on a deserted island? Without sight to guide her, it would be a miracle if she could even find her way back to the beach. She had royally screwed up this time.

And still, despite the fact that she might never make it back to the beach and that at any moment that monster could come ripping through the jungle and eat her alive, the only thought at the forefront of her mind was: _But he _is_ real. He _is.

"Harmony?"

The blonde girl quickly whirled around in the direction of the voice, completely taken off guard and a little panicked.

"Whoa, hey," came the voice again. Female. "It's okay. It's me, Sara. We talked this morning on the beach, remember?"

"Oh," Harmony said, struggling to regain her composure. "Yeah, I remember."

"What are you doing all the way out here by yourself? It's the middle of the night, you know."

"I – uh," the younger girl began. "I was using the bathroom. Got lost and wandered in too far."

"Are you alright?" The lady's voice, Harmony noted, sounded concerned. "You seem scared."

"Well, I wasn't really expecting someone to jump out of the bushes at me like that."

Sara chuckled. "No, I suppose not. Would you like me to walk you back to camp?"

Harmony wanted to shirk away. She was perfectly capable of finding her own way back to camp. She knew this Island better than Sara did – better than _any_ of the people at the beach did. She should be the one leading Sara back. However, the last thing she wanted to do was explain her dreams to another human being. They wouldn't understand. They just wouldn't.

So, begrudgingly, Harmony replied, "That would be great," and allowed herself to be guided by the woman back along the path she knew only too well.

* * *

September 22, 1989. 4:15 a.m.

_Chief Redding arrived on the scene just four minutes after the frenzied call had been placed by a frightened neighbor. It had been quite some time since he had seen a blazer as big as this one. Flames tore through the foundation of the house like it was cardboard, windows shattered from the pressure of the smoke. The heat from the flames alone could be felt a block away. Thankfully, all the neighbors in the surrounding vicinity had been told to evacuate their homes and remain at least a hundred yards from the Felix residence. This was going to be a tough one. _

_"Chief!" called one of the volunteer fire fighters over the roar of the flames, dashing over to Redding. "Robinson, Fletcher and I are ready to go in. You just give us the word."_

_"No," Redding said with finality, his eyes fixated on the house. "You're not going in there; the building is unstable. I'm not going to risk it."_

_"But, Chief," the volunteer argued, "there's a family in there! Parents and two young kids. You're just going to let them perish like that?"_

_"You think this is easy for me to sit back and watch?" Redding spat, rounding on the startled man. "Do you have even the remotest idea of how many homes I've seen burn to the ground like this? Do you have any concept of the number of good men I've lost to homes just like this one? I won't lose any more men unnecessarily." The volunteer shifted uncomfortably at the reprimand. "Now, I know you're eager to get in there, believe me, we all are. I've got the boys on the hose now, and if they can get those bastard flames to die down enough, you can be the first in that house. But not before. You got it?"_

_"Yes, sir," the volunteer said, taking off his helmet. As he stared at the growing flames, lighting up the neighborhood like the Fourth Of July, he couldn't help but bow his head in grief for the family._

_"I know how hard this is, son," Redding addressed the volunteer soberly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "But the only thing you can do now is pray."_

_

* * *

_

"What are you doing?"

Iris's eyes snapped open at the sound of the accented voice. As someone who had never been a heavy sleeper, she sprung to her feet in a matter of seconds, quickly assessing the situation. Sawyer was right beside her, equally as alert.

"I was going to stand guard."

Boone and Sayid stood facing each other, Sayid shooting furious glances at Boone, chest rising and falling in growing anger. Boone glanced around at the stirring group as everyone slowly woke and looked on in weary confusion. His expression was a medium between embarrassment and defiance.

"You heard what's out there in that jungle," Boone hastily explained to Sayid, gesturing towards the dark jungle as he spoke. In his hand was the gun Sawyer had found on the Marshal. "Some kind of monster or something. I thought it would be a good idea to keep watch."

"It's a dinosaur," Alvie cut in.

Sawyer ignored the Dominican and advanced threateningly toward Boone. "You took my gun off me, boy?" he growled as he approached. "Are you serious?"

"Whoa," Iris said, placing a firm arm on Sawyer's shoulder. "Chill out. I'm sure there's a good reason."

"Yeah?" Sawyer asked, still glaring daggers at Boone. "Well, he's got about three seconds to tell us what it is before I come out swingin'."

"I would like an explanation as well," Sayid said accusingly from across the circle.

"Okay, well, before you all go Lord Of The Flies on his ass, give him a chance to tell you why he picked your pockets," Iris stated firmly, glancing back and forth between the southerner and middle easterner. Sayid paused a moment, still looking at Boone, then turned his gaze to Iris and nodded in consent. Sawyer just wrenched his arm out of her grasp in response.

Boone looked around exasperatedly at all the confused expressions in the group, pleading for someone to come to his rescue. "I thought it would be smart for someone to stand guard while we all slept, and since you," he gestured to Sayid, "had the bullets and you," he gestured to Sawyer, "had the gun, I didn't want to wake you both up for no reason."

"So, you thought you'd be a thief, is that it?" Sawyer shot.

"Oh, please," Shannon spoke up, addressing her brother. "Boone, you don't even believe in using guns. You go on those crappy Peace Marches all the time to prevent that sort of stuff."

"I do _not_ go on Peace Marches," he argued.

"Give it back to me," Sayid demanded, holding out his hand expectantly.

"Oh, yeah, that's good," Sawyer said testily. "Give it to Aljazeera over there, he'll keep us safe."

Iris looked to Sawyer. "Aljazeera's a network, dumbass, not a person."

"Whatever."

"Give it to me," Sayid demanded again, advancing forward this time.

"I'll keep the damn gun," Boone declared, scrambling to gain control of the situation.

"We should give it to _her_." Everyone paused in their actions to see that Shannon was pointing across the group to Iris. Iris fidgeted as the eyes of her seven companions all came to rest on her. "She should hold it."

Everything in the clearing was still for that one moment when nobody knew how to respond. Eventually, Charlie stated his consent. "Yeah, Iris should take the gun."

"Fine by me," Sayid conceded, looking expectantly at Boone to relinquish his hold on the weapon.

"Are you kidding me?" Boone asked, taking a step back and pointing at Iris. "If I give her the gun I might as well just give it over to the redneck right now. Those two have been inseparable since we started this hike!"

"She just called him a dumbass, dumbass," Alvie pointed out. "Weren't you listening?"

"Oh, just give it to me," Iris demanded. "Stop being a baby about this. I'm a better shot than you anyway," she added.

Boone looked as if he was about to argue, but thought better of it and closed his mouth. For a moment, he looked unsure of what he should do. It took a little encouragement from Sayid to help sway his decision.

"You either give it to her now, or this situation will become very unpleasant."

After a few second's hesitation, Boone stepped forward and placed the loaded gun into Iris's hand, refusing to meet her gaze as he did so. She quickly checked that the safety was on, and shoved the firearm into the back of her jeans, all the while feeling the hot stares from the group on her.

"Good," Sayid said once the transaction was complete. "Now I suggest we all go back to sleep so we are adequately rested for the trek back to camp tomorrow."

Silently they all agreed and settled back down for the night. Before Iris laid her head on her arm to prepare for sleep, she heard Sawyer approach Boone in the darkness and whisper menacingly, "If you even think about takin' that gun off her, I'll knock you back to the day of the crash."

* * *

The next day had come, and Matthew Bradley stood amongst the group of survivors who had gathered around to hear what the people back from the hike had to report. From what he could understand, their attempts to locate a signal had been futile, and they ended up spending the night in the jungle. Perhaps the battery had died half-way through the trek, or perhaps they were unable to reach high enough ground. Whatever the reason was for the lack of communication to the outside world, Matthew wasn't listening. His attention was focused on the blonde girl across the crowd.

Doe wouldn't look at him, wouldn't even turn in his direction. Her arms were folded firmly across her chest, determined not to remove her eyes from Sayid who was currently addressing the gathered group. What had he done that was so wrong she would no longer speak to him? He had thought he was helping her, lending support and guidance in her trying circumstance. But it turns out he was just being a nuisance. Or, at least _she _thought he was being a nuisance. He was just trying to help. Honestly. She had been cold to him all yesterday and this morning, always remaining at least twenty feet from him.

He felt – what was this feeling? Guilt? Regret? Heartache? No, it wasn't heartache. He knew that feeling all too well. Sadness, then. That was it. It was sadness. He wanted things to be okay between them. He wanted to share in her company again and chat of meaningless things. He wanted to be her friend. But, obviously, those were not the things she wanted.

The sight of someone moving on the outskirts of the group caught Matthew's eye, and he looked over in enough time to see Jack walking down the beach, away from Sayid's report. Matthew followed, abandoning the little hope he had of focusing long enough on Sayid to glean any sort of information.

"Jack," Matthew called as he approached the weary doctor. He turned to face Matthew, forcing something of a greeting smile upon recognizing the man. "Hey, Jack. I was, uh, I was wondering if you'd had the chance to speak to Doe at all?"

"No, I haven't," Jack informed, resuming his walk. Matthew followed instep beside him. "I thought you would've known. I've been busy with the Marshal all night."

"How's he doing?" Matthew asked, genuine concern coloring his voice.

"He's touch and go," Jack said, repressing a worn sigh. "He lost a lot of blood from the crash, and with that infection forming from the shrapnel, his body is too worn to function properly. I'm doing the best I can to help, but…" His voice trailed off, and Matthew understood.

"I'm sorry, doc," Matthew consoled. "If there's anything I can do."

Jack looked at Matthew and forced another grim smile. "I'm good for now, but thanks."

"Just let me know," Matthew said. "I still owe you one from yesterday. Thanks again for making Doe see reason."

"Yeah. How's she doing, by the way?" Jack inquired, pausing when he reached the infirmary to pick up a half-empty bottle of water and sip.

"As of yesterday afternoon, she seemed to be doing better. I think the walk by the ocean took her mind off things."

"And as of today?" Jack pressed, catching the omission.

Matthew scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I… I don't know. She appears to be well, I guess."

"You haven't spoken to her?" Jack lowered the bottle of water and wiped his lips, then offered the bottle to Matthew. He declined with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Doe and I," the teacher began, forming his words carefully, "had a bit of a falling-out yesterday, you could say."

"What happened?"

"Man, I don't even know," Matthew said soberly. "We were walking on the beach, talking about the pilot, and she just got all worked up and told me she didn't need me to worry about her. That she could look after herself."

Jack stared at Matthew a moment, pausing, contemplating. "Are you married?" Jack asked suddenly. It was a harmless question.

"No," Matthew answered heavily. "But I was going to be."

Jack nodded his understanding. "I used to be married," he began slowly. "She was perfect. She was… everything, you know?"

Matthew knew that exact feeling all too well.

"But then one day, it just – it all fell apart. And I tried to save our marriage, I did. I wanted to go to all the counseling, all the therapy. I wanted so, so _desperately _to fix what we broke, but it didn't matter. She didn't want to fix it. She had already checked out. And even now I wonder to myself, what would have happened if I had given her what she needed while we were still together? Would we still be married?"

"I don't understand -."

"I'm saying give her what she needs _now_. While you still can," Jack advised. "If she needs space, give that to her. Maybe she'll come around."

"Yeah," Matthew said automatically, unsure of whether he actually thought Jack's advice was sound.

"It's just one argument," Jack continued. "And it's not like you two are married. She'll be fine. Just give her space."

Matthew forced a sheepish smile. "Thanks, doc. Again."

Jack thumped Matthew on the shoulder reassuringly. "Anytime, man."

With nothing left to say, the two were about to part company. Jack picked up another water bottle, and Matthew turned to head back down the beach, but Jack stopped him. "You know what? I'll find time to check up on Doe in about an hour or so. You're welcome to sit in if you'd like."

Matthew turned back to face the spinal surgeon. "What happened to giving her space?"

He shrugged, taking another swig from the bottle. "I'm a divorced doctor. What the hell do I know?"

Chuckling good-naturedly, each man nodded dismissively to the other, then turned and went their separate ways.

* * *

Harmony felt her way around the pile of strewn luggage, searching for her bag. With the news that a signal was unable to be acquired on the hike, many survivors had taken to retrieving their suitcases and carry-ons, feeling that rescue was still another few days off. Although Harmony's bag had only a few days' worth of clothes and one set of pajamas, she would give anything to change out of the dirty apparel she had on now.

Also searching amongst the scattered luggage was Claire – the pregnant lady – and Sara.

"I never realized how much luggage gets loaded onto a plane until now," Claire remarked, shuffling through the bags. "I mean, look at all this stuff. There must be at least two hundred bags here."

Harmony smiled at the Australian's remark. For someone who had a lot to worry about – crashed on a deserted island, chance of rescue dwindling, baby on the way – she was in wonderful spirits. People like Claire made Harmony sufficiently less bitter about her blindness and more thankful for all that she had in her life.

"Harmony, do you want help finding your suitcase?" came the other woman's voice.

And people like Sara made Harmony sufficiently_ more_ bitter about her blindness.

"No thanks," Harmony replied curtly. "I can handle it."

"Are you sure?" Sara asked again.

"Yes."

"Hey, how do you know which bag is yours anyway?" the pregnant girl asked good-naturedly, continuing to rifle through the pile.

In the permanent darkness, Harmony could feel Sara's curiosity prick slightly at the question. What was that about?

"Mine has brail on the handle," Harmony explained, bending down to feel the hand-hold of another piece of luggage. A smooth handle; not the one she was looking for.

"Oh, you know, I think I remember finding a bag with bumps on the grip," Claire said. But after a pause she continued, "But I can't remember where in the pile it is. Sorry."

"Eh, that's okay," Harmony said. "It's no big deal. I'll find it."

The three continued searching for another few minutes before Claire bent down and pulled up her bag in triumph. "Finally," she remarked. "This is a lot of work for a pregnant girl." The other two chuckled. "Alright, I should find somewhere dry to put this. It looks like there's a storm coming."

And with that, Claire tottered up the beach with her bag in tow.

With just Harmony and Sara left to sort through the luggage, an awkward tension hung in the air between them. Harmony did her best to hurriedly scan through the pile, gliding her hands over the surface, feeling for brail.

"I hope rescue gets here soon," Sara remarked briefly. "I would hate to have to see her deliver that baby on the island."

"She'll be fine," Harmony replied vaguely, another bag coming up empty. "If anyone can handle it, it's Claire. Lord knows she's been so positive throughout this entire ordeal."

"That's true," Sara said.

Finally, Harmony's fingers brushed against tiny bumps, and through her mind flashed the words _Harmony Felix_. She had found her bag. With a little effort, she pulled it from the tangle of suitcases, and, bidding Sara a hasty good-bye, began dragging it up the beach.

Sara, however, ran and caught up to the blind girl. "Here, let me take that. I'll help you."

Harmony fumed. "Look, I've got it, okay? I'm nineteen. I'm used to this. You don't have to baby me."

Sara backed off, startled. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you could use a hand."

"Yeah, well you thought wrong," Harmony snapped. She walked away before Sara had a chance to respond.

* * *

Matthew Bradley sat just outside the makeshift Infirmary, running the cool sand through his hands, watching as it trickled through the cracks between his fingers, lodging itself in many of the tiny crevasses, then ultimately rejoining the rest of the beach as it tumbled to the ground. Behind him, the pained wheezing of the Marshal could be heard through the blue tarp that acted as a roof for the hutch. If Matthew had been in charge of choosing the spot in which to consult with Doe, it most certainly would not have been here, but since Jack needed to keep an eye on the Marshal at all times, this was the only place to do it.

After a few minutes of sitting uncomfortably alone by the tent, Matthew was relieved to see the doctor and Doe stride up.

Doe, however, was not as relieved to see Matthew.

"You said _you_ wanted to talk, Jack," she accused, stopping in her tracks upon spotting the teacher. She refused to move a step closer to him. "You didn't say anything about _him_ being here."

Matthew looked up somewhat sheepishly, unsure whether his speaking would help ease the tension or just manifest more.

Jack seemed to be prepared for such an event, however, because he spoke without missing a beat. "He cares about you, Doe; he just wants to help you. And so do I. Now, I'm not going to ask Matthew to leave, because I understand what his intentions are, and I know they're good. If youwant to leave, I won't stop you. But I'd like for you to stay so maybe we can get to the bottom of what's causing your amnesia." He let that hang in the air for a second, allowing Doe to absorb everything he'd said. Then he added, "I don't know what you're going through, but I know it must be hard. I just want to help. That's all."

Doe stood silent for a moment, looking back and forth between Jack and Matthew. What she wouldn't give for the teacher to be out of her sight. But she also wanted to remember her life again, remember who she was before the crash. Jack's soothing words allowed her to release any bitter feelings she had toward Matthew for the time being and come sit beside the doctor and teacher in the sand. "Okay."

Jack smiled at Doe, and Matthew squirmed a little, feeling as though he were interrupting some private moment between the two people. It was uncomfortable. But, if anything, he was glad Doe was once again occupying the same space with him, so he pushed the thoughts aside.

"How've you been feeling?" the doctor began, easing the girl into the conversation.

"Better," she replied, somewhat guarded. "I told you before that it was just the sight of all those bodies in the cockpit that did me in. I'm fine now."

"I know," Jack said reassuringly. The last thing he wanted to do was put her on edge. "I just wanted to check up and make sure you were still okay. I'm just doing my job as island doctor."

She smiled, relaxing a bit.

"Alright," Jack continued, getting down to business. "Is there anything at all you can tell me of what you remember? Starting with the day of the crash."

Doe once again looked between Jack and Matthew; after a time, her eyes finally came to rest on the doctor. "I remember waking up on the beach, coughing up water. He," she indicated Matthew, "had pulled me out of the ocean."

"You don't remember the flight at all?" Jack probed. "Or the crash?"

"No. Just waking up."

"What about you?" he continued. "Can you tell me anything at all about yourself? What you remember."

A silence pervaded the air save for the steady moans of the Marshal. Doe retreated into the recesses of her mind, searching. She came up empty. "No."

"What about your name?" he tried again, hoping to awaken even the most basic memory. "A first or last name?"

She searched her mind again, trying to feel the name that suited her best. She didn't feel like an Amy or a Lisa or a Margret or a Susan. But, at the same time, she didn't know what she _did_ feel like either. Nothing felt like it belonged to her. "No."

"Can you try to maybe think of anyone you might have been traveling with? Family? Friends?" Jack prodded. "Or why you were traveling to LA in the first place?"

Once again, she examined her conscious. Family? Friends? That concept seemed so foreign to her. She was sure she had friends; _everyone_ had friends. But what had hers been like? What were their names, their occupations? Had they been on the flight with her? What about family? Did she have brothers or sisters or was she an only child? Were her parents still alive? Had they been on the flight with her? Each questioned led to a dozen more equally unanswerable questions, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed with grief and frustration. "No."

Matthew could see that the blonde girl was working herself up into an emotional frenzy. He wanted to step in and offer words of encouragement or even a shoulder to cry on, but he felt that he was already pushing the limits by even being here, so he forced himself to remain quiet.

Thankfully, Jack felt the conversation heading down the wrong path as well and hastened to take control. "Alright. You know what, let's try something different," he said, trying to get her to meet his gaze. In all her stress, a few tears had rolled down her cheek and she had quickly brushed them away, embarrassedly lowering her eyes to stare blankly at the sand before them. Presently, at Jack's words, she lifted her gaze again to meet his, to which he gave an encouraging smile. Matthew once again felt out of place. "Do you know who the current President is?"

She stared at Jack a moment, her eyes growing wide and more distressed by the second. Such a simple, basic question; something anyone should know. After a slight hesitation, her eyes flicked toward Matthew as if searching for the answer within the History teacher, somehow trying to read him like a textbook, hoping to find the answer and come out victorious. When her eyes flicked back to Jack, they were swimming with tears. "…No."

In a few moments, Doe had buried her face in her hands and began crying, spilling out all her grief into the sand.

Jack and Matthew could do nothing but exchange a long, defeated glance.

* * *

When it started raining, just as Claire had predicted, the entire camp quickly set about protecting their valuables from the elements and taking cover under any awning they could find. The survivors had quickly come to learn that when it rained on this island, it didn't just rain. It downpoured. And no one was eager to be caught in this storm.

Being so preoccupied with themselves, therefore, no one noticed when a certain blind girl snuck off into the jungle by herself.

Harmony figured now was a good a time as any to try to find her dark-haired stranger again. She knew he existed, and she was determined to find him. Slipping undetected into the jungle had been the hard part. Now it was about following the same path she had followed last night, the same path she had followed in her dreams for so long.

The rain made it more difficult to get her bearings. The longer she was out here, the more the path became slick with mud, and the more she had to slow down in order to reach her destination. She walked the path, pausing to awkwardly straddle over a fallen log. It had been easier to jump over the log the night before at a run, but with the ground growing more and more slippery, she dared not attempt anything greater than a brisk walk. She had to remind herself that just because she knew where she was going, didn't mean she needed to take careless risks. She was still blind, and therefore needed to be cautious.

After walking for ten minutes, Harmony finally came upon the clearing where she always met the dark-haired stranger. She paused at first, listening for any sounds that might indicate another person occupying the space with her. But with the sound of the _pet-pit-pat _of the rain on the canopy leaves, it was impossible to discern any other noise besides her ragged breathing.

"Hello?" she called over the sound of the rain. "Are you here?"

Nothing.

"Hello?" she called again, this time louder and with more urgency.

Still nothing.

"I want to talk to you," she said, eyes staring blankly forward, listening for any tiny disturbance in the jungle that might indicate his presence.

When she was once again met with silence, she proceeded to extend her arms out in front of her and take a few steps forward, hoping to reach out and feel his being. Hesitantly, cautiously, she strode forward, step by shaking step. All she wanted was to feel him. To know he existed.

After probing the air for close to a minute, Harmony dropped her hands in defeat. At that same moment, the rain stopped.

* * *

_It was the immense heat that had woken her. The kind of heat that seems to wriggle under your skin and sear your flesh, burning into your bones. It was so hot, and so _loud_. There was roaring and a kind of crackling. Was it coming from the heat? Humidity clung to the air, making it difficult to breathe. Four-year-old Harmony was coughing, wheezing, feeling the smoke enter her lungs. She felt dizzy and disoriented, her pajamaed butt resting against something hard and scratchy. The floor? When had she fallen out of bed? Where was she? In her room somewhere, but _where_? Where were her parents? Where was her brother?_

_She cried out to them, tears stinging her heated face. She screamed out in terror through the wheezing, but she could barely hear herself over the roar of the flames. Her house was on fire, that much she was aware of, but when fear gave way to terror, all she cared about was being wrapped in the arms of her parents. She wanted to crawl around and find them, but in the perpetual darkness that enveloped her, she was afraid to accidently crawl into the flames. So she stayed where she was and cried._

_Since time mattered little to four-year-olds, she didn't know how long she'd been sitting there in her bedroom, sobbing and screaming in the darkness, before she finally heard a voice. A man's voice calling out to her by name. She hadn't realized it at the time, but his voice was much less gruff than that of her father's. Soothing, almost calm. She knew he was in the room with her, but just when he had gotten there she wasn't sure, nor did she care. All she wanted was to be safe again._

_She reached out in his direction, feeling the expanse between them._

_Finally, her fingertips brushed his._

* * *

With the din of the rain no longer an issue, Harmony was able to clearly hear that only she occupied the clearing. The dark-haired stranger wasn't there. Typical.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, she decided she'd better head back to camp before anybody noticed her absence. With Harmony's luck, Sara was bound to come looking for her once she realized the nineteen-year-old had wondered off into the jungle again. What was with that lady anyway? Why was she so worried about Harmony all the time? Was it because she was genuinely concerned, or did she find some morbid fascination with her blindness? Whatever it was, Harmony didn't want to have to deal with the older woman twice in the same day, so she quickly set about retracing the path back to camp.

Before she had even gone a few yards, however, she heard squishy footsteps in the mud before her. She paused, cursing to herself, positive that hiding would do her no good, and waited to be discovered.

After a few moments, the footsteps ceased, and Harmony waited to hear Sara's annoyingly concerned voice cut through the silence.

"Hey, aren't you that blind chick from camp?" came a male's voice. Not something she'd been expecting, but okay. "Yeah, what's your name? Melody or something like that?"

"Harmony," she replied, uncertain of to whom she was speaking.

"Right, right. Harmony," he said apologetically. "Name's Alvie. Well, actually Juan Alvarez, but don't call me that. I like Alvie, less uptight."

Harmony relaxed and found herself smiling for two reasons. One, it hadn't been Sara who discovered her after all, and two, this Alvie guy had such a funny way about him. He sounded as though he didn't have a care in the world. Whatever entered his brain came out of his mouth, no filter, no second guessing. She liked him.

"Okay, 'Alvie'," she said, emphasizing his nickname.

"There you go," he said with a smile in his voice. "Now, what are you doing all the way out here? Camp's back that way… Although you can't see where my hand is pointing, so this just became awkward. But trust me, I'm pointing toward the beach. You must've wandered off in the storm or something, right? Understandable. Me, I was taking a wiz, but that's completely beside the point. You need me to take you back to camp? What am I saying? You're blind, of course you do. Excuse me for not thinking clearly. Hey, did you know there are polar bears in this jungle?"

Wow. It was such an informational download that Harmony wasn't sure she could process it all. She didn't know whether to laugh at his antics, be offended by his dig about being blind, or just plain shocked by the revelation of the polar bears. She chose all three at the same time.

"Whoa. Wait a second. What?" she said, bemusedly.

"Oh yeah! We discovered one when we hiked up to get a signal. One of our guys shot it though."

"Wait," she said, overwhelmed by the information he was bombarding her with. "_Shot_ it? Like, with a gun? Who?"

"That redneck guy, but he doesn't have the gun anymore. We gave it to someone else. But I'll come back to that story," he said. "I've got to tell you about the crazy polar bear!... But you know what? Why don't we walk and talk? For all we know, one of them could come charging through the jungle at any moment. Either that or the dinosaur!"

Harmony was so very, _very_ confused, but at the same time, so very taken aback by the humor of this quirky man. She found herself smiling and laughing as she allowed him to lead her back to camp, enjoying his dramatized recount of the hike he'd been a part of.

* * *

"Hey, Lara Croft!"

Iris looked up from her sorry excuse for a meal (half of a cold, hard lasagna with no utensils for which to eat it) to see Sawyer purposefully striding over to where she sat on a piece of wreckage. She smiled at his appearance for it gave her something to take her mind off the Marshal's screams which had become so sever over the last hour that the entire camp was now subject to the chills they instilled.

"Hey yourself, Tex," she greeted. "What's up?"

"What's up," he said, taking a seat beside her, "is that I have a question for you."

"A question? For _me_?" She feigned exaggerated excitement. "Oh, Sawyer, you shouldn't have!" Iris chuckled at his expense, for clearly he had not expected this reaction.

"Have you ever killed a man?" he drawled suddenly.

"You know, it's funny you should ask," Iris said, picking up the lasagna with her hands and pulling off a chunk to eat. "Just last week I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die." She chuckled again, thoroughly enjoying her banter with the southerner.

"I ain't playin'," he said soberly, almost forcefully. "You ever killed a man?"

The tone in his voice made Iris pause. No, he wasn't playing.

She placed the chunk of lasagna back onto the tray and turned to face Sawyer in the gathering darkness. "What do you want, Sawyer?" She sounded exasperated and tired now, as if the blonde man's presence had suddenly taken its toll on her.

It didn't go unnoticed by him that she hadn't answered the question either. "It's not what I want. It's what you need to do. After all, you're the one with that gun stickin' out of the back of your jeans."

A look of confusion mixed with defiance passed over Iris's face. "What, do you have a death wish or something? You've got hands. Put the gun to your head and pull the trigger yourself if you're so damn eager to 'end the pain', or whatever it is that's running through your mind."

Sawyer shook his head impatiently. "It ain't me I'm talkin' about."

Iris was about to ask just who Sawyer was talking about when another pained shriek from the Marshal cut through the air. Realization dawned on her face.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Iris demanded. "No! I took this gun to keep it from harming anyone else, and now you just waltz up and ask me to kill someone? Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, hell," Sawyer rebuked, "there's only one bullet left anyway. And you'd be doin' him a favor. I heard the doc talkin' before. He said the Marshal's probably got another two days of agony to suffer through before he finally croaks."

Iris couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was absurd! "I'm not going to kill someone, Sawyer, so you can just let it go and stop asking."

"I'll do it then," he said. "You know it's gotta be done. One way or another."

He extended his hand toward her, waiting for her to place the .9mm there.

She looked at it defiantly before raising her eyes to meet his. "No."

"Alright, fine," Sawyer said calmly, rising to his feet. "But just know that any sufferin' he endures over the next two days is entirely on your head, not mine."

He turned to leave, and Iris was resolutely determined to let him go. But a nagging feeling in her gut kept her from letting him walk away.

"Wait."

* * *

As the night wore on and the Marshal's ghastly screams grew louder, each member of the camp did all they could to distract themselves from the horror the man a hundred yards down the beach was experiencing. Conversations grew awkward as participants searched for something, _anything_ to talk about. Others worked tirelessly, unpacking and repacking their luggage, counting their shirts, pants, socks and underwear, then unpacking and repacking again. Some attempted to lay down and close their eyes, willing sleep to whisk them away from the beach and escort them somewhere more desired. A few even sat in silence, resigned to hearing his slow death for the rest of the night.

And somewhere in the darkness, resonating through camp, a gunshot rang out.

And the Marshal's screams went quiet.

* * *

The next morning Iris sat on the wing of the plane, quiet, shaking. Her eyes were locked on the ground before her, silently contemplating what she had done. She had thought that by giving the gun to Sawyer it would have removed any guilt she might have felt by shooting the Marshal herself. But that hadn't turned out to be the case. She felt sick to her stomach, physically shaken by the knowledge that she had handed over the very weapon which resulted in his death. It brought back all sorts of horrible memories. Memories she didn't want to face. Memories she had pushed away so long ago.

"You know, when I met you two days ago, I didn't realize just how much baggage you actually had." Iris looked up to see Harmony Felix standing before her, blankly staring just to the left of where Iris sat. "Mind if I sit?"

Iris shook her head numbly, but then remembered that the girl couldn't see her. After a few seconds, she was able to work up the strength to get out a heavy, "No."

Harmony knelt down and extended her hands in front of her, reaching out for the wing. When she found it, she located an empty spot next to Iris and sat.

Silence passed between them for a few moments, and, in that silence, Harmony knew that Iris had no intention of speaking. "It's okay to cry when things suck, you know," Harmony said sympathetically. "It's okay to get angry and upset. Take it from someone who knows what it's like to have a sucky life." Another moment of silence. Then, "I know you had the gun that killed the Marshal." When she felt Iris stir beside her, she assumed the lady was looking at her in confusion. "Alvie told me," she explained.

"It was Sawyer who…"

"I know," Harmony consoled, reaching out and placing a hand on Iris's shoulder. "Which leads back to the baggage you're carrying. If it's got you this worked up, you've got to face it. At some point, you've got to let it go and move on with your life. Until then, you're just stuck right where you are."

Iris didn't know what to say. She didn't want to face it. She had kept herself from thinking about it for so many years now. It was in the past. Wasn't it?

She felt numb again and withdrew back into herself, staring at the sand.

"But until then," Harmony said, "it's okay to cry when things suck."

No. Iris wouldn't cry. She would never allow herself to. But the weight of knowing that now _two_ men's lives were gone because of her made her feel more and more alone.

* * *

_The flames were burning her skin, but none of that mattered anymore as the man pulled her to safety. Before she knew it, she felt the chill of the cool night air around her and began crying hysterically into the man's shoulder._

_"Wh-where are M-Mommy and D-Daddy? I w-want my m-mommy! I w-want my m-mommy!"_

_"It's going to be okay, Harmony," the man chided. "You'll see your mommy again, I promise."_

_But the child was inconsolable. "I want M-Mommy!"_

_"I know," he soothed. "I know. You'll see her." The last sentence was said almost sadly, as if this man prayed she did not have the misfortune of seeing her mom again but knew that she would. "I have to go now, Harmony. You'll be okay."_

_As the child screamed and cried more, the man gently placed her down onto the cool grass of the neighbor's backyard and hurried away, unseen._

_As the minutes flew by and Harmony cried further into the night, a commotion could be heard as a group of men rushed into the backyard._

_"Oh my God! How did she get out here?"_

_"Did anyone see how she got here?"_

_"That's one of the Felix kids!"_

_"How the hell…?"_

_"Robinson, go tell Redding we found one of the kids. Tell him to scan the area to see if any of the other family members made it out alive!"_

_"I'm on it!"_

_Suddenly, Harmony felt herself being lifted by one of the men. His clothing was rough and smelled of fire. "Sweetie, how did you get out here?" he asked gently._

_"I w-want my m-mommy!" she cried. "I w-want my m-mommy!"_

_The man wrapped an arm around her and held her close. "It's going to be okay, sweetie. We found you. You're safe now."_

_But the girl just continued to cry._

* * *

**So there you have it. Chapter 4 is done! But with so many more questions left unanswered. What is it that has Sara so troubled lately? Who is her husband? Who is the dark-haired stranger Harmony is so determined to speak to, and how does she know him? What did Iris mean when she said she's responsible for **_**two**_** men's deaths? Hmm… You'll just have to keep reading and find out!**

**Anyway, please leave a review on your way out. I would really love some constructive criticism right about now. For some reason lately, I feel as if my writing isn't up to its usual standard. Feedback from you guys would be very much appreciated. Thanks! Until next time, bye-bye!**


	5. We Hunt

**Alright, so it's definitely felt like an eternity since I last updated, and for that I apologize. I didn't expect school to be as demanding as it was. But I'm thrilled that I could give you guys a new chapter before I return to class in a few days. I hope you enjoy it.**

**If you remember, we last left off with Sawyer shooting the Marshall with the gun that Iris had given him. Sara is determined to find out more about Harmony, although Harmony is getting annoyed with Sara constantly by her side. And Doe is still having trouble remembering who she is, unable to answer even the simplest question of "Who is the current President of the United States?" Matthew and Doe's friendship is still on rough waters.**

**And now, without any further ado, I give you, Chapter 5!**

* * *

Matthew Bradley was startled awake by the panicked barks of a dog, aggressive and frightened. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and he was on his feet in moments, ready to confront any immediate danger. Upon assessing the situation, however, he came to find that the rest of the beach was relatively quiet. A few yawned murmurs of "Can you keep that dog quiet?" and "Is something wrong?" resounded through camp, but, besides that, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Matthew repressed a sigh of relief and embarrassment as he hastily sat back down in the sand while a few survivors regarded him accusingly, as if he was the sole reason they had been woken up half-way through the night. He ignored their stares and settled down onto his back, attempting to block out the continuous barks of the Labrador, determined to get more than a few hours of sleep. It was the fourth day of being stranded on this island, and still no sign of rescue was in sight. People were becoming restless and, in many cases, hopeless. Surely there should have been some sort of contact by now – a ship, a helicopter, Morse code on the horizon, _something_. And yet, still they waited.

_Give it one more day, _Matthew thought._ They'll be here. Someone will come._

As sleep began to overtake him, Matthew was again awoken, this time by a series of metallic crashes, bangs, creaks and rustlings coming from somewhere deep within the body of the plane. When he quickly rose to his feet again, many of the survivors were scrambling to their feet as well.

"What the hell is that?"

"What's going on?"

"Where's it coming from?"

"Is someone in the plane?"

In a matter of seconds, every single member of the camp was on their feet, edging closer to the fuselage and craning their necks around one another to see what was causing such a disturbance from within the cabin. Matthew was one of the first to join the group.

"What's going on?" he asked as he approached. No one removed their eyes from the dark, gaping entrance to the fuselage.

"I – I think somebody's in there," Claire said from somewhere beside Matthew. Her voice quavered. She was nervous, afraid. Everyone in the group watched in trepidation, too panic-stricken to move.

"We're all out here," Iris spoke up from the center of the group, concerned. "Who else could it be?"

"It's Sawyer," Jack stated matter-of-factly from the front, not taking his eyes off the fuselage. "He was raiding the bodies yesterday for valuables. Guess he went back for seconds."

"Hey, jackass," came the distinct southern drawl of Sawyer from just behind Jack, "I'm right behind you."

Matthew pushed his way to the front of the group, ignoring Sawyer and coming to stand beside the doctor. For a few moments he just gazed into the pitch blackness of the cabin, unsure whether he should initiate the first move or wait for something to leap out at them from the darkness. Fear began to trickle into his consciousness. What could it be?

Finally, he turned to Jack, taking the former approach. "You going to send someone in there to check it out?"

The doctor regarded Matthew with an air of mild respect. "Are you volunteering?"

Matthew inclined his head forward slightly as a nod to the affirmative. "I guess I am."

Jack's only response was to hand Matthew a flashlight. "Then lead the way."

Matthew took the flashlight confidently, then, with Jack, Sawyer, Iris, Kate, and Charlie at his side, slowly approached the mouth of the fuselage – the rest of the camp was left behind, waiting with bated breath. Three individual flashlight beams roamed the cabin as the group made their way through the rows of seats, a flashlight each carried by Matthew, Jack and Sawyer. From up ahead, the metallic bangings and crashings grew louder with each advancing step. Twice, Sawyer's beam fell upon tattered seat cushions and an upturned beverage cart. As they got deeper within the cabin, Jack's beam fell upon a few pieces of luggage with deep gouges and what appeared to be claw marks in it. And once they were nearly upon the source itself, Matthew's beam highlighted the most gruesome sight: a single human hand lying in the middle of the aisle. But what was most disturbing was that it was no longer attached to the rest of the body. It had been gnawed off and chewed upon by something with sharp, jagged teeth. Somewhere in the back of Matthew's mind was Alvie's voice saying, _"Dinosaurs, yo! Dinosaurs!"_

Everyone in the group paused at the unnerving sight, unwilling to take another step forward.

"What the hell are we dealing with here?" Iris whispered, her eyes fixated on the beast in question which was now no more than fifteen feet in front of them and entirely unaware of their presence. They could hear its sharp grunting and each heavy breath.

"Don't startle it," Jack advised the group, aiming his flashlight away from the creature so as not to attract its attention. Sawyer and Matthew followed suit. "We don't know what it is or what it's capable of."

"Um," Charlie whispered from the back of the group, pointing at the dismembered hand on the floor. "I think I know what it's capable of."

Everyone ignored him.

"We don't even know how many there are," Kate said. "There could be a dozen of them in here."

"We could be outnumbered," Jack agreed. "We should go back and gather survivors. Anyone who's fit enough to help fight this thing off if it attacks. Everyone we can get."

"And what if it's not enough?" Charlie pointed out. "What if there are hundreds of these animals in here?"

"Hundreds?" Iris whispered while rolling her eyes. "_Really?_"

"Look," Matthew asserted. "We're never going to know what the hell it is unless we see it for ourselves. So, I'm going to shed a little light on this thing." As he said the words, he raised his flashlight and the beam fell across the brown, rugged, warthog-like creature. Jack hastily knocked Matthew's hand away, diverting the beam. But he was too late.

The beast was aware of their presence.

And it charged.

"RUN!" Jack shouted as the six of them turned tail and fled the fuselage.

As they burst out onto the beach, Jack shouted for the rest of the survivors to take cover. And that's when pandemonium broke loose. Everyone scrambled to find a place to hide. Boone grabbed Shannon and pulled her to a protected area behind a large piece of debris. Sayid threw himself in front of Claire, sheltering her until she found safety. Iris, seeing that Charlie was growing fatigued from running, quickly snatched hold of his wrist and pulled him along, out of the charging path of the boars. Alvie attempted to find a secure place to hide but was too panicked by the two animals chasing him down. He glanced over his shoulder, heart pounding in his ears, as he did his best to outrun them but ended up tripping in the uneven sand and landed hard on the ground. As he pushed himself up, a boar charged, scoring his side with one of its massive tusks. Alvie clutched his side in pain as Jack quickly ran over and pulled him to his feet and out of the line of fire.

Everywhere, people ducked for cover as the boars pushed their way out of camp and fled into the darkness of the jungle. It was a few moments before anyone felt comfortable enough to emerge back into the open clearing. Matthew was glad to see that Claire, Harmony and Doe had made it to safety and that none of them had sustained any injury from the attack. The only person who seemed to be in pain was Alvie; blood was beginning to seep through his shirt.

Frightened, the survivors demanded to know what was going on and if they'd still be safe on the beach. Jack and Sayid did their best to quell any fears or misgivings, but it did no good. Matthew turned his attention away from the survivors, unwilling to take part in their debate. His focus was back on the jungle - where the boars had just retreated. His heart was pounding rapidly, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

If any of the survivors had glanced in his direction at that moment, they would have seen that a euphoric smile was fixed on his face.

Matthew groaned inwardly at the sudden burst of excitement. _Oh, hell_.

* * *

Once Jack and Sayid had reassured the majority of survivors that the boars would not attack again that night, everyone had settled back down to hopefully glean a few more hours sleep before morning. Iris Palmer, however, found that she would not be able to drift back off into dream world and so resigned herself to staying with Alvie until Jack finished tending to his wound.

Sayid and Kate had joined the three of them as well, wishing to discuss the matter of the invading boars out of the prying ears of the concerned survivors.

"Alvie," Jack said, frustrated, pulling the water-dampened cloth away from Alvie's gash. "You have to hold still."

"Oh, right, right, doc," Alvie said, twisting back around to face forward. He had been attempting to examine the bleeding injury, much to the disgruntlement of Jack.

"Thank you," said the doctor, placing the cloth back to the wound.

"How're you doing, Alvie?" Iris asked gently, striving to divert Alvie's attention away from what Jack was doing.

"You know what?" he asked, completely ignoring her question. "I could, like, write a rap about this or something. Yeah… _Boar wound, war wound, damn this is a sore wound –_."

"Okay, how 'bout you just let Jack stitch you up, hm?" Iris cut him off hastily, placing her hand on his shoulder and forcing back the urge to roll her eyes.

"It's not going to need stitches," Jack stated, pulling out a cloth bandage from his stash of salvaged medical supplies. "It's not deep enough. Just a bandage and you should be good."

"Oh, good!" Alvie said, letting out an audible sigh. "Glad it's not serious. You know, unless it turns into some kind of infection or something. Wait, it_ won't_ turn into an infection, right? I mean, us being out here on an island and everything?" Suddenly he gasped. The rest of onlookers in the tent exchanged weary glances. "What if this turns into, like, the Andromeda Strain, yo? What if I turn into a zombie and kill everybody off one-by-one?"

"That's what the peroxide is for," Jack explained, holding up the brown bottle. "It'll kill any bacteria or infection."

"Oh, okay. Good. Right." Alvie wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. "Whew!... Yo, but what if -."

"So, I think it would be a good idea to burn the bodies," Iris stepped in, cutting Alvie off for what was hopefully the final time.

Silence succeeded her words. All eyes shifted to Iris.

"What?" Kate asked, as if she simply had not heard Iris correctly.

Iris paused for a moment, unsure how she should approach this. It seemed like the only logical course of action. Burn the bodies. If the bodies were gone, the boars would have no reason to come around. Burying them would only cause the animals to dig for them which would stir up a panic in the camp. It was best to get it all over with now. No hassle, no emotional attachment.

As she opened her mouth, prepared to explain her position to Kate, Jack spoke up. "I agree."

"You what?" Kate asked him.

"I agree," Jack affirmed, meeting her gaze with a hint of authority. "It's our only option."

"Um, _hello!_" Alvie waved his hand in the air as if trying to signal everyone's attention. "We've got hands. How 'bout we dig ourselves a few holes and put the bodies in there?"

"You want those boars to come back?" Iris insisted impatiently. "You want another wound? They'll smell the stench of death in the ground. They'll be back before you can pack up and move somewhere else. And what then? Can you protect everyone at camp?"

Alvie fidgeted for a moment under Iris's gaze, then dropped his head in defeat. "Just a suggestion," he mumbled.

"So, you want to burn their remains?" Sayid asked, offended by the notion. "They deserve better than that."

"Yeah, they do," Iris agreed. "But that's out of our control. It's either we burn the bodies or they get eaten. Which would you prefer?" She let that hang in the air a moment, challenging Sayid to say different.

"What you are saying is true," the Arab man eventually conceded. "But it is not for us to decide how these people are laid to rest. Would there be no regard for their wishes or their religions?"

"Look, Sayid, we don't have time to sort out everybody's god," Jack said, coming to Iris's defense. She was being rather harsh on the subject, but Jack knew she was coming from a logical mind-set. As he said this, he was simultaneously finishing up the work on Alvie's wound. Alvie pulled his shirt back down over the injury, and all that could be seen of the attack was the small stain of dried blood on his navy tee-shirt.

"Um, we, like, _crashed_, onto a deserted island, yo. Time doesn't really seem to matter here anymore."

"That's not what he means, Alvie," Iris said, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb. "Those boars will be back by tomorrow night if we don't do something soon."

"So, what, you want to burn them _now_?" Kate asked, incredulous. "While everyone is sleeping?"

"No," Iris said, shaking her head. "But the sooner the better."

"I agree," Jack said with utmost finality. "Tomorrow morning we'll have everyone begin to gather wood and dried brush. We'll turn that fuselage into a furnace by sundown. With any luck, maybe a passing plane or boat will see it."

No one dared contradict him. More and more lately, Jack seemed to be emerging to the forefront as their leader, and they would be foolish to go against their leader. So, grudgingly, Kate and Sayid nodded their heads in silent agreement and exited the tent.

With the general opposition out of the way, the doctor turned his attention back to his patient. "You're good to go, Alvie. Try not to do anything too strenuous for the next few days, and I'll be by sometime tomorrow to see how you're fairing."

"Thanks, doc!" Alvie said, exiting the tent with a bit of pep in his step. Iris just shook her head in amusement as she watched him go, swearing she could hear a steady, "_Boar wound, war wound_" as he went.

As Jack busied himself with cleaning up his medical supplies, Iris found herself lingering in the tent for a moment.

"I wasn't expecting you to argue so adamantly the way you did," Jack confessed, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I'm just glad I had someone here to back me up."

"Yeah, well," Iris said, still somewhat on the defense. "It's the only course of action we can take. And there's no point in having a mass funeral for everyone who died. None of us really knew them anyway."

Jack paused, perceiving this last statement as an odd one to make. Iris kicked the sand at her feet, unwilling to meet Jack's gaze. Something was bothering her. Something big time.

Jack straightened up, leaving his medical bag in the sand, and cautiously approached Iris.

"Iris, is something the matter?"

He wanted to place his hand on her shoulder in support, but before he could do so, she quickly turned away from him and hurriedly exited the tent, muttering a quick, "Night, Jack," over her shoulder.

* * *

The next morning, while many of the survivors were busying themselves with gathering wood and tinder for the fuselage, Sara Poole was secretly preparing herself for a trek across the Island. It had been four days since she and Ethan had departed from the Barracks, and Ben would be looking for her to report back on their observations. Thankfully, with the survivors so scattered around today, her absence would hopefully go unnoticed.

She packed a backpack with simple needs – water, a few mangos and her blade. Tying her hair back out of her face, she felt a prick of guilt for having the knife with her. She should have buried it long ago, thrown it into the ocean or destroyed it with a heavy stone. It was a constant reminder of her past, of someone she no longer was. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that more and more lately her past was coming back to haunt her. She needed to get away from it and remind herself that it was just because her husband was gone that she felt this way. Once he returned, all those old feelings would disappear. They _had _to.

Despite the persistent, nagging thought that she should just get rid of the knife, she held onto it for safe-keeping. She felt protected with it.

"All set?" Ethan asked, approaching her, carrying a bundle of sticks for the fuselage. He set them on the ground and pretended to tie his shoe so he could speak to Sara. The two had figured that it would be best if the survivors didn't see them together too often. The less questions and attention they drew to themselves, the better.

"Yes," Sara replied, hitching the pack onto her shoulder. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Be careful, okay?" he said. "Now that they know there are wild boars on the Island, they may decide to hunt. Be wary when you travel that you don't run into anyone. If you do, come up with an adequate story to tell them."

"Yeah, I got it Ethan," Sara said, smiling in amusement. "Thanks."

"See you in a few hours, kid," Ethan said.

"Don't wait up."

And with one final nod to her companion, Sara prepared to depart.

But was stopped short by a large commotion heard down the beach. From all across camp, survivors were running forward to assess what was happening. Sara glanced at Ethan and said, "You better go see what that's all about."

He nodded in agreement, then assumed his role as Flight 815 survivor by running over asking the first person he could find, "What's happening?"

While everyone was so distracted by the commotion, Sara easily slipped into the cover of the jungle unnoticed.

* * *

When they realized that a fight had broken out amongst two of the survivors, Matthew, Jack and Iris were the first people on the scene willing to break them apart. Jack, being the leader, positioned himself between the two opponents to attempt to maintain order, while Matthew and Iris made a point of restraining each of the adversaries. Iris grabbed hold of Sawyer and Matthew kept an eye on Hurley as everyone in the surrounding group of survivors just looked on in curiosity.

"What the hell's going on?" Jack demanded of everyone within earshot. Every survivor in the surrounding circle who had come to watch the fight play out simply shrugged their shoulders or made noncommittal murmurs of "We were just watching" or "Got me".

"I'll tell you what's going on," Hurley said as if tattling on a classmate, pointing an accusing finger at Sawyer, "Jethro over there is hoarding the last of the peanuts."

"Hey, it's finders-keepers, porkpie," Sawyer retorted. Only now did Iris notice that in his hands Sawyer held a backpack which contained a significant supply of snacks and provisions salvaged from the wreckage. He held it up for Hurley and the rest of the group to see. "This here is my own private stash that I found in the fuselage. When _you_ cowboy up and go looting from the dead, then you can keep whatever you can get your pudgy little hands on."

Hurley was about to argue back that Sawyer's "private stash" could easily help care for ten people and that it was selfish to hoard goods that could be used to benefit everyone, but Iris cut him off before he could do so.

"Whoa. Okay, first of all, _chill out_, children," Iris said, staring pointedly at Sawyer. "Second of all, _this_ is what you're arguing about? _Peanuts? _Seriously?Guys, take a chill-pill. We've got plenty of other food. There's no need to get physical about it."

Jack and Matthew nodded in agreement, pleased that Iris had dispelled the negative tension with a few light-hearted sentiments. The girl was calm in the face of adversity; a trait, Jack thought, which was increasingly difficult to come by anymore.

"Hurley," she continued gently, "if you're craving peanuts that badly, I'm sure there are plenty more tucked into one of the refreshment carts."

"Yeah, umm… not really, dude," Hurley replied hesitantly, kicking at the sand with his foot. He refused to meet her or anyone else's gaze. "Oh boy. Okay, here's the thing: we're kinda _out_ of food." He cringed, waiting for the negative reaction he knew would come.

And he got it. At his words, a wave of confusion and mild panic pulsed through the group of on-lookers.

"What?"

"Are you serious?"

"No way."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Okay, hey wait," Iris addressed the group hastily, holding her hands up to signal their silence. "Just calm down for half a second. Hurley," she turned back to face Hurley, who had by now lost all interest in his battle with the southerner, "what are you talking about? How can there be no more food?"

"Well, I mean," Hurley stammered, scratching his head in embarrassment as everyone waited for a half-decent answer. "We kinda thought we'd be rescued by now." At this, Iris and Sawyer exchanged a sideways look which went unnoticed by everyone. "It's been four days, dude. Everyone just kinda took what they needed. It's not like we were expecting to be here this long."

"What, so we're just out of food entirely?" Shannon spoke up from the surrounding circle.

"All of it?"

"Gone?"

"Didn't anyone ration it out?"

"I've barely eaten since I've been here!"

Worry and panic was beginning to spread like wildfire through the group. Something had to be done. Iris wanted to step up and quell their fears, but she didn't have the words to say. She gave Jack a pleading look that clearly said, _I don't know what to tell them. Help._

Jack clearly hadn't been expecting such a dramatic turn of events either, because he hesitated in stepping up. Thankfully, Sayid – who had been silently listening from the outer circle – broke into the center of the gathering and spoke as if he had been waiting for such a moment to arise.

"It's alright!" he yelled, redirecting everyone's attention to himself. "We can _find_ food. There are plenty of things on this island that can be used for sustenance."

"Yeah?" Sawyer drawled, side-stepping Sayid to seat himself comfortably on one of the lone plane seats that had been dislodged during the crash. He glared up at Sayid smugly, pleased to be upsetting his power-trip. "Explain to me how, exactly, we're supposed to find this 'sustenance'?"

Sayid paused, eyeing Sawyer in loathing.

_WOOSH!_

_THUD!_

Where two seconds previous there had been nothing but the uncomfortable cushion of a plane seat, there now protruded a foot-long, jagged knife from the stitchings. It was lodged mere inches from Sawyer's head. The southerner stared at it in disbelief, unsure of what he was seeing. Everyone around grew quiet as they turned in the direction of the path of the projectile. Standing there, looking entirely unperturbed, button-down shirt billowing in the steady sea breeze, was John Locke.

As all gazes, including the mutinous glare of Sawyer, fell upon the older man, he uttered two distinct words which sent chills through a few of the onlookers.

"We hunt."

A silence which had nothing to do with the proposal to hunt and everything to do with the fact that a deadly weapon had almost made contact with Sawyer's face pervaded the camp. An increasingly uncomfortable feeling began to manifest in the very air.

Matthew glanced to Jack and Sayid, hoping one of them would step up and take control of the situation; however, Iris was the one to make the first move. She wasn't used to dealing with psychopaths like this John Locke character, but left in the hands of anyone else, she wasn't sure the situation would turn out positively. So she made a move that was highly controversial, but one which she felt comfortable with: She walked over to Sawyer, yanked out the knife from within the cushion, approached Locke and handed it back.

The tension around her crackled as she made such a bold move. Locke gave her half a smile as he reclaimed his weapon, and Iris felt a little more in control.

"You know," she said good naturedly, "you've either got _great_ aim or," she glanced back to the gouge in the plane seat, mere inches from Sawyer's head, "really poor aim."

The survivors' general dislike of Sawyer was enough to make her comment humorous. A few smiles appeared on their faces. Score!

Jack saw it as the right moment to address Locke. "So, you want to explain to us what it is we're supposed to be hunting, Mr. Locke?"

The hunter remained quite stoic, looking only at Jack as he spoke despite speaking loudly enough to address every survivor. "After the attack last night, we know that there are wild boar on the island. The ones that came into camp last night were just piglets. But of course, where there are piglets, there's a mother nearby. Now, a boar's usual mode of attack is to circle around and attack from behind, so I figure it'll take three of us to distract the mother long enough for me to grab one of her piglets, pin it and slit its throat."

"And you gave him his knife back?" Sawyer said to Iris who turned and shot back with a "Well, do you have a better idea?"

"Better than three of you wandering off into the magic forest to bag a hunk o' ham with nothing but an itty-bitty hunting knife? Hell no. That's the best idea I've ever heard."

Iris rolled her eyes, hoping he would get the hint that his sarcasm was definitely not appreciated at this moment in time. He just scoffed and walked away. Iris turned back to face Locke who actually seemed to find Sawyer's remark amusing. He looked almost gleeful as he kicked open a silver case lying at his feet to reveal twelve other hunting knives equally as deadly as the one that had come close to skewering Sawyer.

Another bout of silence permeated the air. Just who the hell was this guy?

Matthew seized this opportunity to make a getaway. He hastily pushed past the survivors and made a beeline up the beach away from the hunter. Matthew knew that if he had stayed a moment longer, if he had allowed Locke to talk him into joining him on his boar hunt, it would undo all the years of work and self-discipline he had instilled upon himself. He wasn't about to go back to the way he was, the man he used to be. He'd promised himself - he'd promised Rachael_ - _he'd put an end to this.

* * *

_"Cool!" fifteen-year-old Matthew mumbled to himself as he approached the brown snake that lay coiled in the corner of his backyard. He'd never seen a real snake before, not one up close, anyway. They were usually behind glass at the zoo or captured forever in a picture in his school biology book. But never this close._

_He took his time, cautiously advancing, step by step, inch by inch. He smiled as he hovered just above it, curiously examining the splotched brown marks on its back and head. Something about this snake was familiar. Surely he'd seen it before in a book somewhere. But what was it called?_

_As Matthew closed in and his shadow fell across the scaly creature, a steady _ticka-ticka-ticka-ticka _began to emanate from the reptile's tail._

_"A rattlesnake!" Matthew's smile grew wider as he recognized the animal. A Western rattlesnake. He remembered reading about these snakes in biology. Very poisonous. Very deadly._

_The snake, threatened by the boy's presence, curled its neck back into an S shape, opening its jaws to reveal inch-long fangs. It intended to strike._

_With a heightened pulse and sweat forming on his brow, Matthew knelt down beside the snake, intently observing its behavior. He had never seen a rattlesnake up close. Never like this._

_"Matthew!" Mrs. Bradley screamed as she ran out onto the back patio, apron tied around her neck. She had been in the kitchen preparing dinner, casually watching as her child played with their German Shepherd through the window. She thought he had just bent down to examine a bug. Thank God the window had been open. She might never have heard the rattles._

_"Matthew!" she screamed again, terror coursing through her veins. His hunched form hadn't moved from where he sat. His back was to her. She couldn't see his face. Couldn't see if it had struck._

_"What's going on?" Mr. Bradley asked hurriedly as he joined his wife on the patio. It didn't take him long to hear the rattles too. His expression immediately changed to that of apprehension. "Matthew, stop!"_

_Suddenly, their son stirred, slowly and awkwardly rising to his feet. When he turned to face them, he wore the biggest smile they had ever seen. "Look, Mom! Look, Dad!" He held out his hands, revealing the brown snake to his parents. It hissed and rattled, striking out but missing by mere inches._

_"Matthew," his mother pleaded. "Put it _down._" She was on the verge of tears. Neither of his parents dared approach their son for fear of startling the serpent._

_"No, look, Mom. It's fine!" Matthew said gleefully. Each time the snake pulled back and lashed out again, Matthew jumped out of its reach, narrowly missing being snagged by its fangs._

_"Arthur, do something," Mrs. Bradley begged her husband. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she watched her little boy dance with death._

_"Matthew," Arthur began, stepping toward his son half a step at a time. He cleared his throat and tried to speak with clear authority; although, he too was fearful for his son's life. "Put it down. Now."_

_The teen regarded his dad curiously, tilting his head to one side. "But why?"_

_Just then the snake lunged, fangs aimed directly for Matthew's neck. If he hadn't been so distracted by his father's demands, he would have had more time to react. As it was, he only just pulled away in time before the reptile could land the fatal blow._

_This was too much for Mrs. Bradley. She shook hysterically, fighting to suppress her sobs. Her fears reaching critical mass, she screamed, "MATTHEW, DROP THE SNAKE NOW!"_

_Instantly, the boy tossed the snake toward the other side of the yard, staring in disbelief as his mom collapsed onto the ground in a fit of tears. Mr. Bradley quickly went to comfort his wife, wrapping his arms around her as she managed to sob out, "We h-have to d-do s-something about th-this, Arthur… We h-have to put an end t-to this b-behavior."_

_As Mr. Bradley quietly whispered an, "I know. We'll figure this out," to his wife, Matthew watched the two in confusion._

_What had he done wrong?_

* * *

Ah, seclusion. Away from people, boars, arguments, polar bears and crazy knife-wielding old men. Alvie sat on a small dune where the beach met the jungle. Everyone was off collecting firewood for Jack and Iris's mission to burn the fuselage. But since Jack had ordered Alvie to do absolutely nothing today, he found himself sitting alone, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat, testing out some new rhymes he had thought up last night.

"_Boar wound, war wound, damn this is a sore wound. Got gored and now there's no food, it seems as if we're all screwed!_

He smiled, proud of his work. Now, if only he could think of something to rhyme with velociraptor.

"Hey, Alvie?"

Alvie looked up, broken from his reverie, to find Charlie Pace approaching him hastily. The Dominican man squinted against the sunlight as he regarded the rock star. Well, the _former_ rock star.

"Hey, Charlie, what do you think of this? I just wrote it last night, so it's not complete yet, but listen: _Boar wound, war would, damn this is a sore –_."

"Yeah, that's great," Charlie cut him off. "Hey, listen, you wouldn't happen to know anything about fishing would you?"

"Fishing?" Alvie questioned, his brow furrowed. "No. But, man, didn't you hear? That crazy, old, bald guy is gonna go skewer some boars with, like, thirteen _thousand _knives. Food will not be running scarce here."

"Yeah, well," Charlie remarked, "the fish isn't for me. You see, there's this girl, Shannon, and-."

"Wait, _Shannon_?" Alvie asked. "That bitch we went on the hike with yesterday? Dude, she is, like, hot as hell, yo! Seriously, let's go get that fish, like, now!"

* * *

Sara glanced around at the white-walled room, taking in the pictures of father and daughter lined along the mantle. A clock ticked rhythmically somewhere down the hall. The place had a very formal atmosphere to it, and never once had Sara considered this house a "home". A certain friendliness and warmth were hard to find here. She noticed how her muddy shoes left track marks from the front door to the center of the living room, marring the otherwise unblemished carpet. Sara knew Ben would never admonish her for leaving such a dirty trail in his near-pristine house. As much as he may want to, he knew Sara didn't answer to him and that arguing with her was like arguing with the wind to change directions.

"So what's the news?" Ben asked her over his dark, circular glasses. His sunken eyes always caused Sara to pause for a brief moment. There was constantly something lurking behind them, some ulterior motive. He wasn't like any of the past leaders. Ben was different. Ruthless. Cunning.

"There are 48 survivors, 27 female, 21 male. From what I can tell only one of the women are showing signs of pregnancy. Claire Littleton. She's due in a little under a month."

While Sara spoke, Ben stared down at the floor, the wheels and cogs in his head constantly spinning as he contemplated everything he heard. No detail was too small to overlook as far as Ben was concerned.

"Was her husband on the flight with her?"

"No," Sara replied. "No husband. She was never married."

"What about a boyfriend?" he pressed.

"Her boyfriend plays no part in her life as far as I can tell," she confirmed.

"What about the others?" he asked.

"I've not spoken to many people," Sara continued. "Ethan seems to think that getting too involved may blow our cover. But from what I've gathered so far, there are a few people of interest, namely a blind girl. And a _spinal surgeon_, Ben."

At this, Ben's head snapped up, and he fixed Sara with a distinctly pointed glare. Sara stared back at the man, her gaze softening slightly. A brief silence lingered between them.

"How did you find out?" was all he asked. His voice was smaller than usual. It lacked control and certainty. Sara didn't like that.

"Jacob told me," was her simple reply.

"Of course he did." There was an unmistakable note of bitterness about the way he said it. "It doesn't matter," he continued on in a more business-like tone. "Goodwin has reported that an oncologist resides among the tail section survivors. We are arranging to take her within the next few days."

Sara could see right through her leader's indifferent façade. She had known Benjamin Linus long enough to be able to tell when he was avoiding something particularly painful. It was during rare moments like these when she could see the child Ben used to be; the kid who just wanted to get away from life and find a place where he felt he belonged.

"Ben, if there's anything I can do for-"

"I find what you tell me about this blind girl interesting," he overlapped her. Sara wanted to pursue the issue of his hidden condition, but kept her mouth closed for once in her life, understanding that this was neither the time nor the place.

"I'm currently doing my best to learn more about her," the brunette stated, bringing the conversation back to one of disciplined formality. "I will report back when I know more."

"Good."

Ben turned to sit down at his desk and collect his thoughts, and Sara knew it was time to go. As she made for the door; however, Ben called her back.

"Sara, I want you to remember what I said before. Don't get involved."

The woman nodded her head to signal her acknowledgement before exiting out to the warm afternoon air. The sun had just passed the highest point in the sky, telling Sara that it was just after noon. She had been gone from camp no more than two hours, and if she ran, she could make it back in one.

She hitched her pack up onto her shoulder, prepared for the sprint across the Island. And then froze where she stood. Across the small stretch of yard in front of Ben's house stood a man. His dark brown hair and stubble lined jaw stood out against his copper skin and dark-blue shirt. He gazed at her for a few seconds, and then smiled.

The pack on Sara's shoulder fell carelessly to the ground as she dashed across the lawn and embraced her husband. He allowed his hands to become tangled in her chocolate hair as he held her close. She allowed herself to be vulnerable for that one moment in time while nothing else in the world mattered at all. He was home. And she was with him. For the first time in days, she felt whole again, complete in every aspect. While they embraced, his lips found hers and they kissed with a passion that had ceaselessly burned within them for years.

When they finally pulled apart, it was only so they could embrace again. His lips beside her ear, he whispered, "I'm home, Sara."

And she into his ear whispered, "I've missed you, Richard."

Mutually, they wanted nothing more than to remain beside each other for an indiscernible amount of time, so when Sara finally broke away from him, it was with great regret.

"I must go," she said, her voice echoing the sorrow she felt. "Ben has Ethan and me on a mission regarding the survivors of Oceanic 815."

"I know," he said, gazing at her beautiful features longingly. "Ben told me."

Sara stepped forward and kissed Richard one more time before retrieving her pack from where it had dropped. "I will be in touch," she smiled, then took off back toward camp.

* * *

Matthew didn't think he could trust himself around Locke. Locke was a thrill-seeker, someone waiting to jump at the opportunity to venture into the heart of darkness and slay every monster and demon that crossed his path. He was someone who would make choices impulsively and never think twice about his course of action. He was everything Matthew used to be; everything Matthew longed to be. Hell, he was everything Matthew _wanted_ to be. But Locke was also the epitome of a life that Matthew had left behind long ago, a life he vowed never to reawaken again. Even though he wanted to every damned day.

The temptation was too great. All those knives, the thrilling sense of adventure, the prospect of being injured on the hike to hunt for boars; he'd be lying if he said it didn't appeal to him. That was the life he so craved, but years of forced discipline had squashed most of the urge. Or, at least, that's what he'd hoped. To tell the truth, seeing Locke open that case of hunting knives had also unlocked a chest of suppressed desires that Matthew had hoped never to open again.

He had to get away from Locke.

"Hey, thank you for helping me with this, by the way," Claire said as she opened another unclaimed suitcase and began to sift through its contents. She pulled each article of clothing out as if it were made of the thinnest of glass, and every personal effect she came across was handled with the same care and compassion one would use when holding a newborn. Matthew admired her respectful touch. "I asked a few other people for help, but they seemed, I don't know, scared to go through all this stuff. I mean, I understand that the owners aren't… aren't _with us_ anymore," she said, searching for the right words. "But, it's not like we're poking around in their pockets. It's just piles of clothes, used toothbrushes and driver's licenses."

Matthew smiled as he too pulled another suitcase toward him. The clasps on this one had been badly damaged in the crash. A few moments of force and struggle later and he managed to pry open the satchel and began to peruse its contents like Claire had. "I think it's great that you're doing this, Claire. Really."

Her smile dropped a bit. "You don't think it's a waste of energy? A few people told me I should give up. That the pregnant girl should be resting and not planning out some memorial service for people we barely knew."

"What?" Matthew said as he set aside a pile of clothes that could be worn by some of the women survivors. "Are you kidding? I think this is a great idea. Don't listen to those people, Claire." He paused as he pulled out a non-descript bag of toiletries. "Was it Neil?"

"Was it Neil what?"

He looked at her pointedly. "Was it Neil who told you to stop wasting your energy?"

"Yes!" Claire replied as if letting out a secret that had been bottled up. She smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want to say anything, but yes. How did you know?"

"All that guy does is complain. I've never seen a bigger pessimist in my entire life. And trust me, I've seen some pessimists in my time." Claire's smile widened. He liked that.

"Does anyone know what he does for a living?" she asked, pulling out what looked like a photo album from the case she was inspecting. She flipped through it reverently. "I mean, I would understand his bitterness a little bit more if I knew he had a tough life or a difficult job or something."

Matthew found some loose cash tucked into one of the corners of his case. Money was no good on a deserted island. He left it there. "I think I heard Hurley say that Neil actually sells frozen yogurt."

Claire chuckled. "Frozen yogurt?"

"Yep. Hurley was calling the guy Frogurt. I think that's taking it a bit too far. Still, Neil shouldn't be complaining. We're all in a tight spot right now. I mean, I don't think people survive plane crashes every day. This is new to all of us. And you're just trying to help out. He shouldn't be jumping down your throat like that."

"Thanks, Matthew," the Australian girl said sincerely. She glanced back down at the photo album she was holding. "It's so sad to know that we were on the plane with these people, and that we survived and they didn't."

"Well, I think you're doing the right thing," the teacher reassured her. He tossed aside a few pairs of socks. This suitcase didn't look as though he held much information as to who the owner was. "I've always held the belief that the dead should be honored."

Perhaps it was the tone of his voice, or the wording of his sentence, or maybe it was just the fact that Claire was so caught up in the memories of the photo album she was holding, but something caused her to look softly at Matthew and say, "You sound as if you speak from experience."

He didn't meet her gaze. A silence hung in the air between them for a long moment. "…My fiancé." His eyes glazed over as he recalled Rachael's radiant smile and contagious laugh. He smiled, then continued to rifle through the suitcase. "But that's neither here nor there."

"I'm sorry," the blonde said, placing the photo album down. She hadn't meant to bring up such a painful topic.

"Yeah, me too." He looked at Claire and gave her a smile, but she wasn't convinced.

The two continued to search through their respective suitcases in silence. Claire found a few passports in hers and discovered that the photo album she had been looking through was actually wedding plans for a couple on the plane.

Matthew had all but given up hope on his case. Not even a name tag attached to the handle indicated who it may have belonged to. Another Jane Doe lost to the crash.

He pulled out the rest of the clothes at the bottom of the bag and moved to set them aside. When he did so something slid out and fell to the ground. He picked it up, examining the item for a few seconds before feeling his stomach drop into his gut.

* * *

_Matthew was tired. His eyes began to slide closed as he watched the trees race past the car window and felt the steady rumble of the station wagon beneath him. Today had been a long day. After school, his parents had taken him to some building he had never been to before where they entered the elevator and traveled up to the 8__th__ floor. Upon exiting, Matthew was greeted by a plain, falsely cheerful waiting room and a man by the name of Dr. Herbert Smith. While Matthew's parents stayed in the waiting room, Matthew was taken into another room (equally as plain and unappealing) by Dr. Smith._

_Dr. Smith had talked to Matthew for what felt like hours, although in reality it couldn't have been more than two because the clock on the dashboard of the station wagon now read 6:23 which meant that he would make it home in time to catch _Scooby-Doo_. Dr. Smith asked Matthew about everything. His family, his friends, his hobbies, what he liked to do when he was by himself, his dreams for the future. It was fun at first; Matthew rather enjoyed talking about himself, but eventually the questions became more difficult to answer. During a rather challenging question, Dr. Smith assured him that their meeting was confidential and that anything Matthew discussed with the doctor would remain between them. But that wasn't why Matthew had paused before answering. Dr. Smith just didn't seem to understand that some questions didn't have answers. How could Matthew explain why he had picked up that rattle-snake, for instance? He was terrified of rattle-snakes; they could kill a human being with one bite, yet he had done it. He had _wanted_ to do it. Or how could he explain why he never felt the urge to look both ways before crossing the street? He was always told to, and he knew the consequences of his actions should a car come racing by, but it always seemed like a better idea not to look for oncoming traffic._

_Once their two hours were up, Matthew was escorted back out into the waiting room and his parents were taken in to speak with Dr. Smith. Twenty minutes must have gone by before they emerged again, Mrs. Bradley clutching a damp tissue in her hand. Dr. Smith bade Matthew good-bye with a wave and a kind smile, and the family of three walked back to the car in silence, Mrs. Bradley dabbing at her eyes with the tissue every now and then._

"_Matthew, we need to tell you something," came Mr. Bradley's voice from the driver's seat of the station wagon. Matthew tore his eyes from the rhythmic passing of the trees to stare at the back of his father's head. Mrs. Bradley gave a small start._

"_Arthur, we can't," she whispered. "We can't tell him. We have to talk about this first."_

"_He has the right to know," said his father. Mrs. Bradley dabbed at her eyes again. "Matthew, Dr. Smith spoke to us after you two talked." Nothing new there so far. "And he feels that… that you may be _different_ than your friends." Matthew clearly heard his mother stifle a sob. His father waited for a reaction from the boy, and when he received none, he continued. "Matthew, Dr. Smith believes that you have something called counterphobia. Do you know what that is?"_

_Matthew shook his head, but when he realized that his father was staring at the road and not him, he mustered up the strength to get out, "No."_

"_It means that, while many people distance themselves from things and ideas that they are afraid of, you feel the need to confront them. It means that you enjoy putting yourself in scary situations, like, for instance, with the rattle-snake last week. It means –."_

"_It means," his mother cut in, finally finding her voice, "that we will be keeping two eyes on you from now on, Matthew. You can't go putting yourself in danger all the time. You're going to get hurt."_

"_Vanessa, calm down," Arthur scolded. "You're going to frighten him more."_

"_I don't care, Arthur. He needs to know that he can't give in to his urges anymore. It's only feeding his condition."_

"_Vanessa…"_

_But Matthew wasn't listening anymore. He had just heard the words that no fifteen year-old boy ever wanted to hear. He was going to be watched by his mother constantly. Freakin' fantastic._

_His life was officially over._

* * *

"Alvie, are you alright?" Harmony called out from the shore. She had distinctly heard an Alvie-sounding shriek disappear into the tumbling waves before her.

"He's fine," Hurley managed to get out through a bout of laughter. Alvie's head resurfaced, and Hurley and Charlie pulled him up into a stable, standing position.

"Yo, man, I _had_ that fish! Damned ocean!" Alvie handed the make-shift spear that he and Charlie had fashioned over to the Brit. Charlie got into position with the weapon poised over his head, prepared to strike when the right moment came. "I mean, why the hell is this so hard, yo? It's three guys versus _one_ fish."

A glint of silver streaked past Charlie's view. Just another second longer and he'd have the fish right where he wanted it.

"Three guys, but only one brain," Harmony called out from behind them.

Charlie had caught himself halfway between diving for the fish with the spear and turning to cast an indignant "Hey!" over his shoulder toward the blind girl. What resulted was nothing short of hilarity. One knee bent forward for the dive while the other remained straight. Charlie lost his balance and plunged face first into the oncoming waves, receiving a mouthful of seawater.

Alvie and Hurley laughed as they pulled Charlie to his feet. "I can only assume that you just made my point painfully clear, Charlie," Harmony said with a chuckle in her voice.

"Be quiet, you," the rock star called over his shoulder. She just smiled more broadly. "Who invited you to come watch, anyway?"

"No one," the blind girl responded. "But since there's nothing else to do on this damned island, I figured I'd at least entertain myself by listening to you dopes try to catch a fish. And I must say, so far, _very _entertaining."

"She's right, yo," Alvie said, still attempting to stifle his laughter. "That last dive you took was one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my entire life!"

"Dude, what if we all came at it from different angles?" Hurley suggested, bringing them all back to the task at hand. "We could corner it and make it impossible to get away."

"Yeah!" Alvie agreed.

"Let's give it a shot, then," Charlie said.

"Would you guys listen to yourselves?" Harmony called out. "It's a fish, in the _ocean_. You're not going to 'corner' it. You're not even going to get anywhere near it."

The three guys ignored her and got into position. "You just wait," Hurley said. "This is going to work."

"Yeah, okay," Harmony chuckled to herself. It was times like this where she wished beyond hope that she could see.

Charlie held the spear at the ready while Alvie and Hurley flanked him on either side. After a minute or two, the targeted fish swam into view, dodging in between their legs, taunting them. Ever so slowly, they inched closer and closer toward each other, no one daring to move more than absolutely necessary. It was so close now. Just a few seconds more.

It was over in a moment. Charlie dived, launching the spear head-on into the water just as the fish streaked away into the waves and the spear came to lodge itself in the sand, just mere inches from Alvie's foot.

"Bollocks!" Charlie swore.

"You almost gored me in my foot, yo!"

"Dude, I totally thought that was going to work."

Harmony could no longer contain her glee. "So, should I just find Shannon now and tell her that she's not getting the seafood dinner you promised her?" Her smile could not have been wider.

"No, we've got this," Charlie persisted. "Let's try it to corner it again."

"You got it," Hurley said.

"Fine," said the Dominican man, still scowling. "But this time, aim for someone else's foot."

In Harmony's opinion, today was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.

* * *

Sara sprinted through the dense jungle toward the survivors' beach camp, the wind whipping her face as she ran. The emptiness that had dominated her being for the last week was finally gone. She felt complete again, reawakened with a new determination and vigor. Seeing Richard meant so much more than just having her husband back at her side; it meant that she was whole.

As she neared what she knew to be the half-way point between the Barracks and the beach, Sara stopped for a quick break. Tossing her pack to the ground, she unclasped it and rummaged around inside for a bottle of water. Guilt pricked in her chest when her hand brushed the cool metal of her blade at the bottom of the bag. Against her better judgment, she pulled it out and examined its fine craftsmanship. As her fingers gently caressed the handle and sheath, she felt a growing admiration for whoever had forged this blade. Its intricacies alone were praiseworthy, but the fact that it had deteriorated so little with age was truly a feat for only the most masterful of smiths. It was perfect.

Sara didn't recall telling her face to smile at the sight of the blade, but a joyous grin was pulling at her lips nonetheless. Almost immediately, that good feeling disappeared and was replaced with disgust. How could she allow herself to hold onto such an item? How could she still carry the knife with her, knowing full well what it represented? And after she had just seen Richard.

It was the thought of her husband's handsome, vibrant face that gave Sara the courage to grasp the dagger in one hand and throw it as far as she could into the green vegetation of the Island, casting it from her as if it were a plague.

Instantly, it was as if a giant weight had been lifted from Sara's shoulders. Her heart raced in satisfaction to finally be free of such a dangerous burden. Smiling, she hitched her pack up onto her shoulder and departed once again for the beach.

She had only been walking for a few minutes when she heard a disturbance in the clearing ahead. With her spirits growing lighter by the second, she ventured a look at whom or what had caused the rustlings, and so crept up quietly behind a rather large bush. She was half surprised to find the old, bald man – what was his name? – John Locke examining recent gouges made in a nearby tree.

_Hunting for boar, no doubt_, Sara thought.

The brunette retreated from the bush with the same silence with which she approached it, and resigned to take a different route back. It would not be wise to be caught this far from camp with no plausible or discernable reason. _Don't get involved_, Ben's words rang in her ear.

This new route would only take her a few minutes out of her way. She wasn't up for running again just yet, after all, she'd just kept at a steady pace for a little over a half-hour, so she trotted on at a relaxed speed, listening to the sounds of the jungle as she went.

A bird called somewhere in the distance, while multiple insects buzzed and chirped to their own tunes beside her. The gentle breeze through the leaves sounded like a steady rainfall, and Sara delighted in closing her eyes to absorb all the beautiful sounds at once.

_Ticka-ticka ticka-ticka ticka-ticka_

Her eyes snapped open, suddenly on the alert.

_Ticka-ticka ticka-ticka ticka-ticka_

Which direction was it coming from? She wanted to be prepared, to be able to face it head-on.

_Ticka-ticka ticka-ticka ticka-ticka_

Louder, too close for comfort. She braced herself, and remained firm where she stood, rooted to the spot, determined to let no weakness show.

Calmly she turned, knowing it was behind her. And before Sara had time to realize it, the Black Smoke had curled itself around her, blocking out all the light from the mid-afternoon sun. It was just her and him. And they both knew it.

She braced herself for the barrage of images he would force her to see, moments from her life he could make her relive to his own amusement. But none came.

After what felt like hours of endless dark smoke swirling about her, the light returned and the Black Smoke streaked away into the jungle, resounding a steady _ticka-ticka ticka-ticka_ as it went.

Sara breathed a sigh of relief and stooped to pick up her pack which had slipped off her shoulder at some point during the encounter. Her eye was caught by a metallic object lying in the grass a short distance from where she stood. An object that hadn't been there minutes before.

She approached the object with apprehension and felt her gut drop into her stomach when she recognized what it was. Her blade.

He knew. He knew she had kept it all these years, knew that she had never gotten rid of the wretched thing or attempted to destroy it. And, Sara thought, completely sick to her stomach, he knew that she would take it back if given a little encouragement.

She quickly scanned her surroundings to see if the Black Smoke was still around. He wasn't.

With trembling hands, she placed the blade back into her pack, and then set off toward camp again, hating herself more than she ever had before.

* * *

"Hey, Charlie!" Harmony called out from where she sat with her back to a tree at the edge of the jungle.

The British rock star looked around, startled for a moment as he walked by. His eyes eventually came to rest on the blind girl. She was smiling slyly.

"How do you do that?" he asked her, if not a little unnerved.

Her smile grew. Harmony had always taken pleasure in causing unsettlement in others with her blindness. _It serves them right_, she would think to herself. _Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I'm an idiot. If they're that naïve, they deserve to be taken advantage of._

"Everyone has a distinct walking pattern, Charlie," she explained. "And I can feel it through the sand."

"Oh," Charlie said, relief clouding his voice. "Mystery solved, then."

He approached Harmony more closely now, although he resigned himself to remain standing rather than stoop down to her level. Lingering here too long was not on his agenda.

"So, how'd everything go with Shannon? Did she like her fish?" the blonde girl inquired.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "Right, about that." Harmony heard him scratch his head, clearly stalling. "She was just using me to win some sort of argument with her brother, actually. Something about her not being able to fend for herself or some rubbish like that."

Harmony could not suppress a chuckle. "Wow. And you fell for her charm, didn't you? She must be really hot if she had you, Alvie _and_ Hurley all scrambling to catch a fish for her."

Charlie gave a half laugh as well, in spite of himself.

"So, Claire's giving a memorial service tonight," Harmony said, changing the subject, "You know, when Jack and Palmer burn the fuselage. You want to go? I mean, like, together?"

"Oh," Charlie said, suddenly glancing around himself. "No, I was – uh. I have something I need to do tonight."

If Harmony wasn't mistaken, she could have sworn she had heard Charlie tap his jeans pocket absentmindedly. Her brow furrowed. "Alright."

"See you later, then," Charlie said over his shoulder, as he quickly excused himself and hurried off down the beach.

_Strange_, Harmony thought, left to ponder Charlie's odd behavior. _What was _that_ about?_

* * *

Matthew sat on a piece of wreckage, contemplating. It was nearing night, and the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. Everywhere, survivors were busy loading the last of the wood that had been collected that day into the fuselage, preparing for the memorial service and the burning of the dead. He and Claire had spent the day sorting through every piece of unclaimed luggage, figuring out just who those nameless victims lost to the crash were.

The History teacher knew he should be helping prepare the fuselage for burning, but after discovering that old picture in one of the bags, nothing else seemed important. He passed the photograph from hand to hand, surveying the two people in it by firelight. A young girl, maybe 17 or 18 years old, stood in a bedroom adorned with two separate beds, a nightstand and two dressers, with her arm around a young boy, maybe 15 or 16 years old. The two were smiling brightly for the camera, completely hamming it up as kids tend to do. The girl was wearing a sweatshirt which must have been three sizes too big for her, while the boy had on a rather smart button-down shirt.

Matthew flipped the picture over for what felt like the fiftieth time, but still, there was no trace of a date of any sort on the back. No names identifying the two teens, not even a print date by the camera company. All this lack of evidence aside, Matthew knew that the picture was old. For one thing, it was crinkled and worn from frequent handling. For another, the girl in the picture was unmistakably Doe. She was much younger, her hair was shorter and her clothing style was definitely different, but there was no denying that crooked smile or those bright green eyes.

After discovering the picture, Matthew had searched the bag three more times, looking for any clue as to who Doe might be, but not even so much as a nametag existed. The only evidence that the suitcase had even belonged to Doe was the picture he'd found inside.

Suddenly, Matthew could feel someone coming up behind him ever so carefully. He tucked the picture away into his pocket, keeping it out of sight. Almost instantly, he felt the person take a seat beside him on the wreckage, and he looked over to discover a familiar face. It was Doe.

"George W. Bush."

"What?" the history teacher asked.

"George W. Bush," Doe repeated, stronger this time. "He's the current President of the United States."

Matthew's mouth would have dropped open in shock if he hadn't kept himself in check. "How did you…?"

"I've been thinking about it all day," she said, hesitantly. Was that a look of apology in her eyes? "I've literally spent this entire day trying to remember who the President is, and I finally figured it out. George W. Bush."

"Is there anything else you remember?" Matthew prodded. Was this a breakthrough?

"No," she said, deflated. "No, that's all I got."

"That's still a great start."

"Thanks," she said. She sounded slightly embarrassed. "Matthew, I'm sorry I snapped at you the other day. You were only trying to help. I should have seen that. In fact, I don't know why I _didn't_ see that."

Matthew was taken aback. Yesterday Doe wanted nothing to do with him, and now she was openly admitting she was wrong. Talk about a mood-swing. "Well, you've been going through a lot," Matthew said, determined to keep the conversation going in a smooth manner. Just keep everything light.

"Exactly," Doe said, her voice growing less embarrassed and more confident. "I have no idea who I am or where I came from or anything about me." Matthew could feel the picture burning a hole in his pocket. "But I'm not going to stop searching for who I am, not even if it kills me."

"You're strong, Doe," Matthew reassured her. "I know you'll figure it out."

"Now you've reached the point I wanted to make," she said, staring at him pointedly. "_I'm_ going to figure it out. Not you. Not Jack. _Me_. Now, that doesn't mean I wouldn't mind your help, because, trust me, it's scary not knowing who you are, and a little encouragement would be wonderful. But this is _my_ battle, and I'm going to fight it. Clear?"

Matthew had to suppress a smile. He admired her determination and refusal to give up her search. And he couldn't deny that he was glad they were once again on speaking terms, because that's what brought the smile to his lips most of all. "Clear."

"Thank you," she said, getting to her feet. "The memorial service is about to start. You want to go?"

"With you?" he said, still sitting. "Definitely not. Why would I want to go anywhere with someone who takes an entire _day_ to remember that George W. Bush is the President? Nah, I think I'll ask Alvie if he wants to go. I mean, at least he likes dinosaurs."

Doe laughed, but pulled Matthew to his feet saying, "Alvie currently reeks of the ocean and fish. But, hey, if you still want to go with him, I completely understand. He's a great conversationalist."

"The ocean and fish?" Matthew asked, crinkling his nose. "Never mind, then. I guess I'm stuck with you."

Doe smiled and began walking toward the fuselage. "Yeah, I guess you are."

As he watched her go, Matthew considered calling her back and showing her the picture he'd found of her younger counterpart. But something stopped him. Perhaps it was that he didn't want to ruin this moment with Doe. Perhaps it was that he was slightly jealous of the boy in the picture with his arm around her, and he didn't want Doe to remember who he was. Or perhaps it was no reason at all. But whatever the case, the photo remained tucked into his pocket as he followed her to the fuselage.

* * *

_Matthew stood there, breathing fast, breathing hard. He'd waited for this moment for three years, waited for the day he would finally be free of his mother's watchful gaze. How every waking moment since that fateful car ride had been a living hell! Never doing anything too dangerous unless it was with supervision, never allowed out of the house unless his mother knew exactly where he was going, what'd he'd be doing, who he'd be with and when he'd be home._

_But now his life was in his own hands. And he was about to give into every irrational and dangerous urge he'd ever had, starting right here, on the edge of this plane with a parachute attached securely to his back. There was no one here to stop him now!_

"_Okay," the jump instructor said. "Whenever you're ready."_

_The words had barely escaped the man's lips when Matthew leapt from the open hatch into nothingness, falling, falling, falling._

_The thought that forced its way through Matthew's mind just before he pulled the ripcord was, _Happy 18th birthday to me!

* * *

**So, I've gotten a few people saying they wanted a Matthew flashback, and here you have it! I don't think anyone was expecting that, although I could be wrong. But this isn't the end of Matthew's story. There are still unanswered questions, such as where does Rachael, his fiancé, come into play? How did she die? And how did daredevil Matthew come to be a middle school History teacher? Too, who is the boy in the picture with Doe? How does she know him, and why is she still carrying that picture around with her? So many questions!**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Would asking for a review be too much? I'd really love to know what you all think. I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible; although, with school coming up, I don't know how soon "soon" will be. Still, I will try my best.**

**Thanks again, so much, guys! Please review. Until next time…**


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